Prodigal Prevarication
by TrthIsOutThere
Summary: Post-Invasion...William Van de Kamp remained safe through the invasion, but that was only because They couldn't find him. Re-write, 20 x's better than the original. Check it out!
1. Prologue: 2012

**I do not own TXF!!!**

A/N: You knew this fic previously as "Ending It, Once and For All." Liked the idea, hated the title. So now it's two words that aren't used together, a noun acting as an adjective...Just utter madness, but the two words are pretty apt for the plot. Basically, the original of this fic felt like it was missing a lot and had many pointless events take place. John Doggett is more in character, and not the pain in the butt jerk he was in the first version. This was also the first fic I ever posted/wrote and my style has changed slightly? Is it better? Is it different? I'll let you tell me. Review! I love seeing my inbox fill up with them.

A/N 2: I realized as I was uploading this prologue that it's very reminiscent of Mochi-girl's "Where There's a Will, There's a Way." I definitely didn't mean to do that, I just needed a way to explain events leading up to where this starts.

* * *

_prodigal: one who has returned after an absence_

_prevarication: a statement known by its maker to be untrue and made in order to deceive…_

* * *

**MAY 2012**

_A no-name hacker and avid conspiracy theorist crosses highly classified files from the Mount Weather mainframe in Berryville, Virginia while hacking his way through Homeland Security databases. In the following weeks, these files leak onto the Internet amongst conspiracy theorists. High-trafficking searches revolving around theories of looming alien invasions and top-secret government programs in cohorts with early extraterrestrial visitors is flagged through Echelon tracking, forcing the federal government into action against its own citizens. Several accusations receive guilty admissions and sends a portion of the American public into a slight panic._

**AUGUST 2012**

_John W. Anderson enters the presidential race as an independent candidate. He focuses his campaign on relieving the anxiety caused by the government's admission to have had secret dealings with the aliens. His promises assure the public that there is nothing worry about, he was already developing a plan of action in the event that a state of emergency would be declared. _

**OCTOBER 2012**

_The incumbent president falls ill of a mysterious disease and dies after a twenty-six hour hospital stay. When no one can explain the genetic origins of the virus, public anxiety skyrockets to an all-time high for the year. Congress moves the presidential inauguration to two weeks after Election Day through emergency motions._

_The Center for Disease Control issues a warning of a national epidemic as over two hundred cases of the virus are reported by the end of a ten-day period. CDC begins to research the cause and cure for the virus. By the end of the month, one of the doctors noticed that one of their test subjects still displayed weak vital signs two weeks post-mortem. The doctor discovered that the virus had slowed the subject's autonomic functions to the point that they were nearly undetectable. After five days in intensive care in an induced coma, the nurses found him in perfect health and quickly released him to go home…_

**DECEMBER 3, 2012**

_John W. Anderson is inaugurated into office early and immediately begins preparing his emergency action plan, also implementing a "no-secrets plan." He begins slowly releasing files on the deal struck between the first visitors from the 1947 Roswell crash and members of world governments. His actions are based on the definition of the Freedom of Information Act. It is leaked later that he had somehow managed to obtain full funding for his campaign from the Federal Emergency Management Agency._

_The CDC has implemented a quarantine program for the hundreds of cases of the mysterious disease, now dubbed the E.T. Plague due to its undeniable extraterrestrial roots. The cause is still being researched, and the public is warned to maintain a hygienic lifestyle. They allow the disease to run its course; the victim is left to allow the disease to reduce their functioning at which point they are slowly rehabilitated through medically induced comas and released within a week. The only lasting side affect noted is a prominent bone growth on the first few vertebrae._

_Doctor Dana Scully, a well-respected pediatrician and ex-forensic pathologist, releases a public statement that she has seen the disease before and that resuscitation is not necessary to cure the victims. She tries unsuccessfully to convince her colleagues that they are only enhancing the effects of the disease by administering induced comas. Without notes, experiments, or otherwise solid evidence, her claims fall on deaf ears, her status within the medical community not even able to convince her colleagues. When asked for her solid, scientific evidence, she quietly admits to having none._

**DECEMBER 22, 2012**

_The alien invasion had become a past joke. Most people were away from their homes, visiting relatives for the holidays. Only avid members of organizations such as the Mutual UFO Network and the National Investigative Committee for Aerial Phenomena still took the threat of invasion seriously, flocking to public areas to try to convince others that their apathy would be their end. They tried to convince people that if they trusted them, they could save them from what was to come. Several theorists were arrested or charged with public disturbances. The more extreme were charged with assault and battery. Others just sat and watched the skies, barely noting the nearly uncomfortable warm front causing record highs across the globe._

* * *

NORTHWESTERN VIRGINIA

Fox Mulder, a tall, lean middle-aged man, had spent the better part of ten years converting his old farm house to a fall-out shelter. The foundation had been refaced with stones laced with a specific form of magnetite, found all over his property. As far as he was aware, the entire four acres of land sat on a giant bed of this same rock.

He sat on his front porch, his eyes glued to the horizon. On the table beside him, a Glock 19 sat idly along with several boxes of ammunition. He slowly loaded the custom-made shells into as many clips as he had been able to find. To his right sat his oldest friend and one-time superior, Walter Skinner. He was loading the same kind of custom bullet into clips for an AR-15. His attention was focused more on his task than the sky.

To Mulder's left sat another friend, John Doggett, who was similarly loading rounds into clips for a Glock. His eyes continuously shifted to the evenly distributed piles of magnetite surrounding the house. As a natural skeptic, Mulder knew that John still questioned the legitimacy of the Mount Weather Files uproar from earlier that year. Or any part of the conspiracy for that matter.

These men were closer than brothers because of their shared past. They knew each other almost better than they knew themselves. It was for survival that they had learned so much about each other, they had to be able to predict another's movements and thoughts. When John finally sighed, Walter and Mulder immediately paused, focusing all their attention on their friend.

"John?" Walter asked.

John shook his head. "I still can't shake the idea that all this hype we're fussin' about is going to blow over." His pale blue eyes found Mulder's hazel eyes. "What if we're overthinkin' this, Mulder?"

Mulder shrugged as his eyes lazily found their way back to the horizon. "I'd rather have a boat in a light rain than an oar in a flood, John." He glanced toward the recently remodeled barn barely two hundred feet from the house. Unbeknownst to an innocent bystander, he had constructed a tunnel connecting the barn and house. He personally preferred being over-prepared.

A low rumble began shaking the porch and a strong warm breeze picked up, tousling Mulder's short brown hair. He watched the sky and leaped off the porch into the grass, jogging into the middle of the yard. Behind him the house's screen door screeched open, then slammed shut a moment later. He was joined moments later by a familiar presence.

"Newscasters are reporting what they're calling 'drug-driven' riots around the world," Doctor Dana Scully said from beside him, her eyes also trained on the horizon. "The rioters are commiting particularly violent acts. They don't appear to be discriminatory in choosing their victims." She looked at him sideways. "I'll give you one guess what all the rioters have in common," she said dryly.

"Noticeable vertebral growths?"

Scully nodded and sighed, her fingers alighting on the bridge of her nose to apply headache-relieving pressure.

Mulder turned, worry lines creasing his forehead and the muscles in the corners of his eyes growing tight, and gently squeezed her elbow. "Are you alright, Scully?"

She squeezed her nose again before nodding. "I've been having migraines followed by extreme mood swings recently. As soon as the headache lifts, so does the mood." She frowned and then added, "Or maybe it's the other way around, I can't be too sure."

"Oh no, Scully, I hope you're not pregnant," he mumbled, quirking an eyebrow.

Scully's arms fell limp and she turned blank eyes on him. "That's not funny, Mulder."

His hand slid up her arm and across her thin shoulder, landing softly on her cheek. "I know it wasn't," he apologized. "I'm sorry." He smiled as her eyes softened, but she was cut off as the rumbling grew louder, though the skies remained clear.

From the porch, a tall brunette woman called to them. "What is that?"

Mulder shrugged. "Your guess is as good as mine, Monica. Though I have a pretty…" His sentence was cut short as a plane appeared in the sky to the east of the house flying at a low altitude. The rumbling peaked as the plane wobbled its way south through the Virginia mountains. All five of them watched as the plane disappeared in the distance followed by a delayed tremor as the plane made impact with the earth.

Mulder stared mutely at the spot where the plane had disappeared. "Scully…"

Just the way he mumbled her name in his monotone sent chills running up and down her spine. "Mulder?"

Mulder's head whipped around so fast she thought his neck would break and his eyes were wild with excitement. "Scully, how do you tell seven _billion_ people, 'I told you so?'"

* * *

CODY, WYOMING

William Van de Kamp's bright blue eyes swept across the open pastures that stretched all around him. The cattle were lowing nervously and pacing about the ground. To his left, he saw a dust cloud rising as the cattle on the neighboring farm began a stampede across the dry ground. Stupid animals. A grimace stole across William's freckled face. He hated cows.

Riding out to the tor in the east corner of his father's land was a daily activity. He felt as if he could see the entire world from that vantage point. Today he had itched to climb as high as he could, as if something was pulling him heavenward. He rode out to the rise and climbed the exposed rock and sat, just watching the sky and trying to figure out what it was that was calling to him.

He watched the stampede carefully. Soon his father's cattle would begin their own run. Something really had them spooked. He watched as the stampede blatantly ignored the wranglers and charged away from whatever was scaring them. He noticed the dust cloud moving his direction and felt a slight tremble under his feet. That was when the first fence broke. Pine boards flew in the air and were crushed underfoot as the cattle ran straight through the corral, straight towards his father's cows. William stumbled backwards over his awkward eleven-year-old feet, his eyes the size of saucers. He scrambled into the saddle of the over-sized ATV, speeding his way back to the house.

He rode right up to the front steps and jumped off, tripping over his long legs as he bounded up the steps. "Dad!" He ran from room to room searching for his father. "Dad!" He turned to run back outside, but stopped suddenly and dropped to his knees. His vision darkened and faded as a piercing headache exploded throughout his skull. Arms and legs fell numb, and he crumpled to the floor fearfully thinking that he had somehow caught the E.T. Plague. Surely he was dying; nothing else could be that painful.

Slowly his vision returned, but his body remained numb. He stared at the ceiling, feeling his blood pumping and his heart beating five times faster than normal. He drew in quick shallow breaths as his body tried to restore its equilibrium. His fingers and toes began tingling and he wiggled them, trying to rush feeling back into his body.

Finally, he was able to sit up. Slowly, he pushed himself up and leaned against the wall. He heard someone whispering in the next room and frowned when he didn't recognize the voice. "Hello?" he croaked, climbing stiffly to his feet and peeking around the corner into the study. They room was empty, causing his frown lines to deepen. Another voice added to the whispering and he spun around, again finding no one. More and more voices added to the mix, growing to a hum in his ears. Eventually, the hum increased to a growl, and then to a roar. Tears filled William's eyes as he squatted against the wall and clapped his hands over his ears, trying to shut the noise out.

"_Shh, sweetie, don't worry. I'm here…_" He heard one voice coo over the din. "_William was a bullfrog…_"

William froze as the voice sang to him. He recognized it, loved it. It made him feel safe. He closed his eyes, seeing blues eyes shining out through a mess of red hair. Individual facial details were lost, but he could feel the hair as he tightly gripped it between his fingers. He could smell the shampoo she used mix in with a scent that was purely hers and it comforted him. His eyes shot open. _William was a bullfrog…_ "Was a good friend of mine," he whispered. Where had he heard that song before? "Joy to the world, all the boys and girls…" He felt new tears sliding down his face as he missed hearing the song sung to him.

"_Joy to the fishes in the deep blue sea_," the woman whispered. She was crying as well. William closed his eyes and saw a man with brown hair and green eyes that looked like him. This man would make the Red-Haired lady stop crying. He just knew and finished the last long of the song with the woman.

"Joy to you and me."

When he heard her the other voices went away.

* * *

Scully sat quietly below ground in the barn. The radio was on, giving minute by minute updates from Washington. By that point, ships had settled over smaller government powers around the world. Through whatever contacts they had in or around those countries they quickly moved in and took over. The victims of E.T. Plague acted cohesively with instructions from the ships, corralling citizens and preparing them for enslavement.

Mulder had been right in his overzealousness to prepare for the invasion.

They sat quietly huddled around the radio, recently joined by Scully's mother and her younger brother, Charlie, and his family. Her older brother, Bill Jr., had adamantly denied the threat of invasion and chose to remain in San Diego. Because this had been predicted, Mulder and Scully had arranged for Bill and his family to be brought to safety along with Monica's parents and brother and sister.

Mulder growled softly as the voice on the radio announced that President Anderson had declared a state of emergency. Around the world, victims of the E.T. Plague were aiding in the invasion efforts of the visitors.

"…it is clear that actions must be taken against those that we so recently reunited with their families," the President's voice floated in the air.

"He's getting his strings pulled," Mulder mumbled.

"…must call your local police department if _anyone_ you know has contracted E.T. Plague," Anderson continued. "FEMA has set up facilities to hold them until we discover a cure."

"We have the cure," Doggett muttered angrily. Monica's hand landed softly on his knee and she whispered to him quietly.

"This is going to turn into a witch hunt," Mrs. Scully noted quietly.

Scully nodded and winced as another headache, one of the worst yet, washed across her forehead. Mulder asked if she was alright. Forcing a smile, she nodded and prepared for the following mood swing, but what followed was not like the other headaches. It wasn't her own emotions storming through her, it was some else's. Someone who was terrified like a child in a thunderstorm. She realized suddenly that it was a child, feeling frightened and alone. She cast a glance across the room to where her brother and his family sat around a table picking at their food. Her brother's two children, Christopher and Megan, were young and frightened, but not to the degree that Scully was picking up on. They barely understood what was happening. Scully closed her eyes and focused on the fear inside her. They shot back open a few moments later. William. She could _feel_ it. Mother's intuition.

Immediately, she wanted to make him feel better, to tell him not to be scared and that everything would be alright. Hundreds of memories of her staring down into his blue eyes as he cried flooded her psyche causing her heart to swell. She would smile and tell him not to worry, that she was there and nothing would harm him. As she always did, she would sing Three Dog Night like she had all those years ago in the Florida woods to Mulder, wishing that Mulder had been there for them both. She closed her eyes as tears filled them, feeling William tugging on her hair, trying to chew on it or pull it straight out of her scalp. At the time, it had frustrated her and annoyed her, but now she would give anything to have it back. What would happen to her son today? Was he safe?

_William was a bullfrog, was a good friend of mine,_ she thought, hoping he knew she was there.

Sadness radiated from deep in her core. William knew she was thinking about him. And he remembered her. She heard his voice in her head, muddled and quiet, but still audible. "_Joy to the world, all the boys and girls…_"

"Joy to the fishes in the deep blue sea," she whispered and looked at Mulder. He smiled and squeezed her hand, not hearing her sing.

_Joy to you and me…_

"William…" Scully whispered.


	2. The Beginning

**I don't own TXF...**

A/N: Soooo...I didn't like how William found Skinner the first time around and I feel like this way, while still being out there, is slightly more believable. Slightly. Either way, thanks for the reviews last time. Please do it again!

* * *

FIVE YEARS LATER

Through the mask on his helmet, William's vision was extremely limited. He looked left and right, completely turning his head to see all the way in both directions. The entire line was set, and he glanced at the ticking play clock on the scoreboard. He yelled play directions as loud as he could over the defense's support.

Fucking rival school.

The center, Robby Rader, snapped the ball directly into William's hands and lunged forward into the noseguard to block for him. William dropped back and watched for his wide receiver to make his cut back behind the defensive secondary. William pump faked once and then side-stepped as one of the defensive tackles broke through the line and lunged at him. The other kid tripped over William's trailing foot and fell, opening a hole in the play. William felt the burn in his lungs as his cleats dug into the soft field, propelling him over the distance of sixteen amazing yards for a first down.

Just as he dove forward to down the ball, he felt someone tackle his feet. His ankle twisted and cracked and something pulled sharply in his knee. A moment later, something hit his head from the opposite direction and he heard a pop in his neck. Time slowed as he hit the ground and crumpled beneath two linebackers who appeared to be on steroids. William's helmet managed to fly off and he hit the ground face-first.

Sure. Disable the quarterback. This was only a high school regular season game.

Whistles blew, forcing William to realize he was laying on the ground, one arm twisted beneath him and the other still gripping the ball. The ball fell from his limp fingers as he wiggled all his fingers and toes, blinking his eyes open slowly. Nothing had broken as far as he could tell. The trainers were standing over him now, asking what was hurting. He was just battered by two seven hundred pound linebackers. What _didn't _hurt?

"I just need a minute," he croaked, already feeling his body grow warm as it repaired every injury he had sustained. _Like Wolverine_… he thought and grimaced. He tightened and released all his muscles and sat up unaided as his body decreased back to a normal temperature.

The training coach insisted on bending all of his joints before allowing William to stand and then squatted next to him. "How are you not hurt, Superman?"

William shrugged and climbed to his feet. "Just lucky, probably." Someone handed him his helmet and he tugged it back down over his head. Of all the thoughts he could hear and of all the times he chose to block everything out…

He motioned for his line to huddle up around him. "Okay, guys, we're going to run William Riggins. Got it?" They nodded and lined up again. William had devised the play during practice one day and it had been named by his coach, an outnumbered Redskins fan, but it was barely used. He switched positions with the running back and ran the ball down field. William Riggins was a twist on an existing play, but specifically called for William, to play as the running back, "Riggins." Simple, but surprisingly effective.

That day five years ago had changed William. An emotional gap was bridged between the Red-Haired lady and himself. He had quickly figured out that she lived far away, but her thoughts were the ones he felt the strongest. But not only had he picked up the ability to hear thoughts; all his injuries were healed in minutes no matter the severity. His strength, agility, and stamina increased at least three-fold. On top of that he was fully rested after two or three hours of sleep in spite of the activities he had participated in the previous day. Something had activated in his body that day, making him some sort of super-human. It was kind of like the victims of E.T. Plague, those _super-soldiers_ as they were called, but he didn't respond to the aliens' calls and he didn't explode when exposed to magnetite.

The first day of tenth grade geology had been the most frightening day of his life.

William stepped up to the line and bent down behind Justin Belter, the normal running back, in a simple offset I-Formation, leaving a space open that was intended for William to run through. If all went according to play, those two linebackers that tackled him would be left open to converge on William right after he crossed the line of scrimmage.

Rader snapped the ball to Belter, who in turn tossed the ball to William as he ran past. William ran to the left and through the hole. One of the defensive ends broke through and lunged for him, but he numbly deflected the other kid with a one-handed shove and spinning out of the way. William saw the corner back running up to intercept him, but the overzealous steroidal linebacker shoved his own teammate out of the way to get to William. William smiled and picked up his speed, charging full speed at the other kid, dropping his shoulder and bowling straight into him. Their helmets cracked together and William straightened, sending the kid rolling over his shoulder and landing on the field sprawled on his back. Two more defensive players grabbed William to pull him down, and one more added soon after. Digging his cleats into the field, William never lost speed and kept running like Forrest Gump, carrying the ball and the three giants over the goal line.

* * *

_Ánnaí…wake up, ánnaí…_

_William turned, searching for the source of the strange, raspy voice. Fire burned all around him. The heat was overwhelming, stifling. They stood there watching him panic in the center of the circle of flames, but he could vaguely make out their silhouettes outside the flames. They were thin, every appendage lengthened, and they stared at him through over-sized black eyes._

_Ánnaí…the time is coming, ánnaí_

_What is ánnaí? Why are you calling to me? What do you want from me? Leave me alone!_

_William held his hands up in front of his face as their probing fingers brushed his cheeks and forehead. They whispered incoherently to each other and William wanted to run. He knew that they wanted him. He tried to run, but his limbs felt like lead. They wouldn't move. He tried to yell, but his voice caught in his throat._

_William…_

She _was calling to him. To Their dismay, it was distracting him, reminding him that it was merely a dream. They called again, but he ignored Them. _She_ always made their voices stop altogether. _She _would always make him feel safe._

_We can keep you safe, sweetie._

_He could see her face, still lacking all details except her hair and her eyes, both enhanced through the landscape of his dream. Her smile was distorted as if it was a reflection in a rippling pond, but nonetheless reassuring. William reached for her, but found she was just out of his reach. _

_Remember me, baby…I kept you safe from _Them_._

_He had to get to her. She would make him safe._

_Who were They? They. Them. He remembered being taken from people he trusted. He remembered that when he had been the most frightened, surrounded by flames in a crater, She had been there._

Them.

_I feel them._

_They're here._

William tore out of the dream with a black and white image of a street sign imprinted on his retina. Shaking himself awake, he wondered why his brain chose to remember the intersection at this exact moment. He was drenched in sweat and his sheets were twisted around his legs. A jolt of adrenaline sent his heart fluttering and caused him to bolt upright in his bed. The house was eerily quiet, causing the voices to boom in his ears. It was that same incoherent whispering from his dream, but it was much louder now and sounded similar to when people spoke in tongues during church. He heard nothing from his parents.

He had been dreaming often in the last few months. Within the last few weeks, they had become more vivid, longer, harder to wake up from, and though they weren't extremely frightening, he always woke up drenched in sweat and his heart racing. His dreams often came as visions and memories he guessed were from the first year of his life. Prior to December 22, prior to Wyoming, and prior to William Van de Kamp.

His parents had kept his adoption secret until he was about five. For seven years after he had wondered if his biological parents had even wanted him. For seven years, he occasionally asked if he could ever meet his biological parents. But he always received the same answer; no one was completely sure they were even still alive. On December 22, his life changed dramatically. He not only realized his mother was not only alive, but he remembered how much she had loved him, how much she still missed him.

Kicking off his blankets, he rolled out of his bed and landed lightly on the floor in a crouch. He reached under his bed and slowly removed his 12-guage shotgun with the least amount of noise possible. Just as slowly, he slid the bolt back to reveal an empty chamber. He crept over to his desk and loaded three rounds of buck-shot into the gun before tip-toeing over to his door. Hugging the gun to his bare chest, he peeked out the door and down the hall. He cleared his head of all voices and listened carefully. When he heard the floor creak ever-so-slightly in his parents' room, he felt his breath catch in his throat.

Heavy footsteps thudded slowly down the hallway and William edged away from the door and back towards his bed, ducking behind his desk and watching the door. His hands were shaking and his heart was pounding. The footsteps edged closer and soon a hulking shadow filled the doorframe.

"Ánnaí…" the man's voice was deep and gravelly. "Where are you, ánnaí? The time is coming. You need to come with me."

William suppressed a gasp. What the hell did ánnaí even mean? He knew this man was one of Them and They just wanted to hurt him. Taking a deep breath, William stood and pulled the trigger, opening a nasty hole in the man's torso, but having no effect on the intruder. He slid the forearm forward and back, sending the spent shell to the floor and repeated the process two more times, with one shot tearing a hold straight through the man's neck. Pure luck.

As the man dropped to the floor, William fell to his knees and dry-heaved for several moments. Coughing, he stood and cautiously approached the form in the doorway. When he noticed the bubbly-fizzing noise, he reached for the light switch and grimaced as he saw the man's face begin to melt away. An acrid smell assaulted his nose and he buried his face in the crook of his elbow. Carefully, he stepped over the quickly deteriorating from and ran down the hall.

"Dad?" he called quietly into the dark. "Mom? Are you awake?" He knew the truth. They weren't going to respond. There was something bigger going on, something bigger than him, than his family. It had something to do with his abilities and whoever or _whatever_ ánnaí was. He flipped the switch by the door.

It appeared that his parents were sleeping soundly, but he knew that wasn't really the case. He walked up to the bed to find every orifice in his parents' face red and swelled shut. With a shaking hand, he reached out and touched his mother, looking for any sign of life. His lower lip trembled, but he refused to cry. He returned to his room for his camera and took pictures before pulling the sheet over their swollen faces, hoping that whatever had killed them had gone quickly.

Back in his room, he took pictures of what was left of the large man on his floor and then changed into jeans and a t-shirt, tucking his phone in his front pocket. The contents of his backpack were then emptied on his bed and replaced with two extra changes of carefully-folded clothes, a bag of sunflower seeds, his toothbrush, phone charger, iPod, and his camera. He retrieved his hidden stash of cash from beneath the floorboards in the corner of his room and stuffed it into his wallet. He returned to his parents' room for a final time to grab his father's change jar and any cash and cards he had in his wallet.

Downstairs, he rummaged through his mother's wallet for all her cash and stuffed it in his pockets. In the study, he searched the internet for the intersection ingrained in his memory. To his surprise, there was only one hit. There was an intersection in Georgetown, D.C. with those two street names. One of the things William had been able to get from his parents was that he had lived in the D.C. area after he was born. He had a long drive ahead of him.

He grabbed the keys to his father's Ford F-250 and walked outside. He opened the back door and threw his backpack and shotgun in the backseat. As he shut the door, he turned back to look at his house one last time. Sighing, he climbed into the front seat and started the engine. He drove and drove through the night silently, not even turning on the radio and only stopping for gas.


	3. Ensuing Investigation

A/N: I liked Leyla Harrison (seasons 8 and 9). Annoying or dumb as she was, she was still pretty entertaining. I had to add her in somehow...

* * *

"This file crossed my desk early this morning," Assistant Director Leyla Harrison-Rotter said. She held out the file and pulled her coat tighter around her neck against the first icy cold day of the Washington Metropolitan Area winter. "I thought you could offer your expertise in this area since Agents Mulder and Scully are…umm…" She cleared her throat. "Momentarily preoccupied."

John Doggett stood in the doorway of his house, coffee in hand, and reluctantly reached for the file suspended between them. More than likely, the case had been designated with an X classification. Since the paranormal investigative division no longer existed, the agents that had been closely related to it were sought out for assistance when a major case involved any strange events. His piercing blue eyes scanned A.D. Rotter's face before he stepped out of the way to let her in out of the cold. He motioned for her to take a seat in the living room.

Monica Reyes appeared from the kitchen, her own cup of coffee in hand. Leyla immediately felt awkward, realizing she had coughed them in the middle of breakfast. "John, what's going on?" They both watched as he silently scanned the file.

Leyla studied the two former FBI agents. She had worked with them before, shortly after she had begun her career as an FBI accountant. At the time, she had been a green recruit, obsessed with the adventures she saw detailed through Agents Mulder and Scully's expense reports. Since then, she had matured and climbed up the administrative ladder to division director. A much safer position for a wife and mother of two.

As John read the file, Leyla summarized for Monica who was now seated in a chair across the living room. "A few days ago, a farm hand in a small town in Wyoming called in a double homicide to the captain's office. He was arriving for work and found the front door wide open." She studied Monica for a moment waiting for a response.

Both agents had aged slightly since she last saw them. Monica's roots displayed small dusting of gray and John's whole head was peppered gray. They both still looked to be in excellent shape. John settled into the chair beside Monica and handed the file to her."What do you think, Mon?"

Leyla jumped in immediately. "The evidence fits in perfectly. This is a legitimate X file."

Monica nodded. "The acid stain on the floor is the dead give-away." She flipped through the file again. "It says here that the Van De Kamps had a sixteen-year-old son?"

Leyla nodded. "Missing. The captain didn't speak highly of him. He said he had a reputation that preceded him and called him a freak of nature."

"Why?" John asked roughly.

She shrugged. "He was above average, exceptional in athletics and academics. He could have graduated at fourteen, but stayed longer so he could play football and baseball."

Monica frowned. "That doesn't make him a freak. That makes him closer to a prodigy."

Leyla nodded again. "I know," she said and stood. "Please consider taking this case. Because we don't know all the details, we can't treat this as a kidnapping. But you and I know that kid couldn't kill someone the way that couple died." She held John's gaze knowingly before announcing that she had to return to work.

Monica showed her to the door. Once she was gone, she turned to John. He was already on his feet, walking back to the kitchen with the file in his hand. She followed him and watched as he dropped the file into the trashcan. "John Doggett, what are you doing?" She frowned as her hands landed on her hips, demanding an answer.

"We can't investigate that case," he said, dumping his cold coffee in the sink. "You know what that will do to them. They'll pick up where they left off in New Mexico sixteen years ago."

"December 22, was five years. This was all supposed to be done with. Something's wrong. They're looking for something so valuable they're making careless mistakes trying to find it. Why Wyoming?" She paused. "Why not? We should at least check it out, don't you think? Just make sure nothing is going on?"

Doggett's face remained impassive for several moments and he stared at her across the island. Finally he sighed. "One day, there and back. That's all."

* * *

Captain Bo Briner of the Cody Police Department had escorted John and Monica out to the house. By the time they finally made it out to the house, John looked like he was ready to kill the gruff officer. The captain pulled his black Explorer to a stop outside of a two-story farm house, the only thing appearing out of place was the police seal across the front door. They climbed out of the car, scanning every corner of the house and yard for details.

"Were there any signs of forced entry?" Monica asked, stopping at the bottom of the front steps.

The captain spit a brown stream of dip-spit on the ground and shook his head. Monica suppressed a disgusted grimace. "No, ma'am. That's why we assumed the kid did it."

"Do you have any proof to back that up?" John asked.

The captain deadpanned them both. "The little bastard has a record a mile long. He was a trouble maker. 'Round here, kids are driving around farm vehicles at ten to get around licensing laws. We don't enforce 'em on account of the fact that so many folks live so far out of town…he pushed his limits."

"Well, he's only sixteen, how much trouble could he have caused?" Monica only asked to understand the captain's feelings towards this William Van De Kamp. She had been sixteen once, she knew exactly how much trouble the boy could have been.

"Boy's trouble, Agent Reyes," Briner said in a no-nonsense tone, hooking his fingers through his belt loops and making his stance bigger. Great, a chauvinist, bully cop.

But Monica pushed back. "If we have a better idea of his criminal background, we'll have an easier time evaluating the case," she said calmly.

The captain sucked his teeth, his eyes narrowed. He pushed the talk button on the walkie-talkie on his shoulder. "Betty, this is Captain Briner. Can you send the Van De Kamp boy's file to my laptop?"

"It's on its way, captain," the voice crackled back to him.

Briner squared his shoulders. "The boy has been to court for vandalism and trespassing charges, mostly. Judge dropped quite a few of them, due to a lack of evidence," he said leading them back to the Explorer, muttering something about "not needing no evidence for a well known trouble-maker." He opened the door and pulled up the file, motioning for Monica to take a look. Monica leaned into the truck and scrolled through the file quickly, noting that Captain Briner was the arresting officer on the majority of the cases. She continued to read through the file until the sound of an ATV flying across the farm caught her ears. She backed out of the truck and turned with John to the approaching sound.

The young man was in his early thirties, but looked much older. He had been working the land his entire life and it showed through his haggard cowboy appearance and faded blue jeans. He stepped off the ATV, wearing a worn Carhartt work jacket and tugged a knit cap further down on his head. He used one hand to smooth out his thick goatee before offering his hand to John. "Hey, sir. Justin Gerard." He shifted to Monica and shook her hand as well. "Afternoon, ma'am," he said with a tip of his head, before turning his attention to Briner. "Afternoon, Captain. Are these the folks from the FBI?"

The captain barely nodded, before spitting again.

"I'll take it from here, Captain," Justin said, clapping his hand on the older man's shoulder.

"Make sure they get outta town alright, son," the captain muttered, climbing into his car. He slammed the door shut with no further argument and tore off down the long dirt driveway, leaving John and Monica stranded in the middle of nowhere, Wyoming.

"I hope he didn't push you around too much," Justin said, offering a warm smile that twinkled in his weathered blue eyes.

"I think he was trying to make the Van De Kamp boy sound like more of a trouble-maker than he really was," Monica said.

Justin laughed heartily and stared off at the dust cloud hovering over the drive. "Nah, Will didn't make any more trouble than any other kid. The captain just didn't like him too much. He's a local man, born and raised. His father was the police chief and he's following that same path. Will was adopted from out of town and he was ten times smarter than the smartest kid in his schools. Captain swore there was something wrong with him. Small populations get like that."

"Why does he trust you will be fit to oversee our investigation?" Monica asked. "You don't look like a cop."

Justin sighed. "I worked this farm since I was sixteen, ma'am. After a few years, I got out, got a degree and went to Harvard School of Law. Came back because I couldn't take the hustle of the city." He motioned to the house. "That's why the captain trusts me around a crime scene though. Thinks I know the laws or something…" He smiled again.

"You were close with the Van De Kamps then," John stated, bring the conversation back to the case. He just wanted to get the _hell_ out of Wyoming and completely forget about this case.

"Yes, sir," Justin said solemnly. "It was a big surprise to come in and find them dead and Will missing. I know he didn't do it, the kid could cause a bit a trouble, but he was completely harmless. He's got no motive."

"Is there anything you can think of that might make him snap?" John persisted.

Justin shook his head slowly. "No, sir. Though…Will _was_ adopted, like I said, but he was under the impression that his biological parents were dead. Annie and Michael did good by him though and he loved his parents. Hated these damn cows, but who can blame him for that?" Justin took a deep, dramatic breath and then grimaced expressively. "Gets worse during the summer."

Monica coughed slightly. She had been ignoring the smell since they stepped out of the car. "There was a car missing as well?"

Justin nodded. "Michael's truck. I live in town and I'm on all of William's emergency contact lists. He didn't even come by my place, leading me to believe he was kidnapped no matter what the captain put in his report."

Monica and John exchanged glances. "Could we take a look inside?" John asked.

"Sure, I'll show you around myself. CPD didn't really do any sort of investigation, not much has been moved around." Justin led them back to the front porch and up the stairs. He pulled out a pocket knife and cut through the police seal on the door and pushed it open. It hadn't been very long since the time of death, but the house already smelled unused and unlived in. Justin silently led them upstairs to the master bedroom. Yellow police tape had cordoned off the bed and all the linens had been removed. "Did you see pictures of the Van De Kamps?"

Monica and John nodded and stepped closer to the bed examining it closely. Monica knelt down to get closer to the mattress. She spotted a small area that had been eaten away and stained green, not enough to do an extensive amount of damage. "John, here." She pointed out the spot on the bed and he nodded.

"They were here alright," he mumbled.

"They?" Justin's ear perked. "Does this fit the M.O. of some serial case you guys are working on?"

"A cold case of sorts," John said nodding. "Has to do with all the stuff that happened on December 22, five years ago."

"The invasions?" When John nodded, Justin ran his hand through his tousled, soft curls and shook his head in disbelief. "Holy shit…" He looked up at John and Monica unsurely. "Are you guys like the men in black or something?"

Monica shook her head. "We're the ones that tried to put the men in black out of business."

Justin paused and the twinkle returned to his eyes. "You're not going to flash me with your neuralyzer are you?"

John looked at Monica blankly. Monica shook her head, but smiled tightly. "No, that's not standard issued equipment for the FBI." She turned, announcing she was going to take a look down the hall, and walked out of the room, heading for the second bedroom that had been cordoned off by police tape.

John turned to Justin. "I'm going to look around here for a few minutes."

Justin shrugged. "Suit yourself. I have to go take care of some cows." He walked out of the room, leaving John by himself. The case was settling uncomfortably with him. Justin had expressed true worry for the Van De Kamp boy, who appeared to have disappeared without a trace. As of right now, he could barely make a guess as to where the boy might have gone. The most logical explanation had every bit of evidence pointing toward the boy, but even John, the skeptic he was, couldn't believe the boy had committed the crime.

But where _was_ he?

He walked slowly to the vanity on the other side of the room where several pictures were tucked into the mirror's frame. He pulled one out gently and held it up to his face. It was an old school picture of a boy he assumed to be William Van De Kamp. He carefully set that picture down and grabbed another one, a regular, candid four-by-six inch photo. The boy had been about fourteen in the picture. Even at that age, he stood as tall as his mother. His arms were wrapped around her neck in a warm hug from behind and he peeked out from behind her head, a somewhat familiar mischievous undertone to his crooked smile. She was laughing and her hands were squeezing his elbows.

John looked down into the face of the boy and had to do a double take, recognizing the eyes staring back at him. He knew that color, no matter how faded the picture's ink was, and he knew the face that they sat in. His heart started pounding in his chest and his stomach was doing flips. If he had ever found his deceased son, Luke, he imagined he would feel the same way. This case had just moved up his list of priorities. At tucked the picture into his jacket pocket the pieces began falling into place. Random activity in Wyoming, the missing boy, the dead parents… He knew that it was imperative that William Van De Kamp was found so that William _Scully_ had a chance of survival.


	4. The Journey Begins

A/N: Definitely forgot I hadn't posted this...I think it was because I wasn't entirely happy with it, but I've got it to the point where it's ready to be posted, so enjoy!

* * *

It had been a few days since William had seen a bed. The last few nights he had pulled off the road and curled his long form up in the backseat of the truck. He would end up tossing and turning for hours before finally achieving his minimum amount of necessary rest and then would get up and drive for several more hours, only stopping to eat.

His mind constantly wandered to the man that had killed his parents. William had known he was in his house through his dream. He had heard his strange language and it forced him to wake up. The man had been there to get William, to take him. If only he knew what ánnaí meant.

The GPS announced that he had finally arrived at his destination. William edged up to the stop sign and leaned forward to see the street signs on the corner. The black and white memory flashed across his mind's eye again and he hissed, rubbing the heels of his hands into his eyes. A car had pulled up behind him and began to honk their horn impatiently. He glanced around quickly before pulling away from the intersection in search of a place to park.

Twenty minutes later he walked slowly back to the intersection. He stood at the corner looking around for anything else to jog his memories. Overgrown oak trees with their roots pushing up the concrete sidewalks lined the street. As he continued to walk, he desperately tried to make himself remember something else. He stopped in front of an old brick-front apartment building and sat on the steps with a heavy sigh. He glanced up and down the street, just watching and searching for anything to help him remember. Nearly ten minutes went by before he looked up and to his right. It was the skyline that brought up another memory.

_The Red-Haired Lady was carrying him on her hip down the front steps of the building. At the bottom of the stairs, she opened a stroller and sat him in it. Her hair was shoulder length then, and she wore a button-up shirt and a long, fitting black suit jacket. For a brief moment, he was able to capture all the details of her face. Mama. She had been trying to get him to say that for a while. And he had tried. He wanted to do it for her; he wanted to make her happy. She smiled as he tried to say it and, as she buckled him into the stroller, she sang that song again. William was a bullfrog… She smiled again and then said, "Okay, sweetie, let's go check and see if Daddy has been able to send any emails." Daddy. So he was away for a long period of time. She kissed his forehead before the memory faded._

William's eyes shot open and he jerked his head around to view the building's façade. It was old, but very well kept. The landlord took a lot of pride in the building, it was obvious. He stood and took two steps backwards towards the curb, his eyes scanning up and down every inch of the building's front. _Home._ This had been home at one point in his life. He stared up at the three-story apartment building for a long time, trying to remember everything he could until a voice cut into his thoughts.

"…kid! Hey, kid!"

William blinked and looked down at the man standing in the building's entryway. He was barely average height, but lean. His brown hair was short, buzzed the same length all the way around his head and a soul patch on his chin was the only facial hair he had. He frowned at William curiously. All William could say was, "Huh?" He wanted to smack himself when the man wondered if William might be handicapped.

"I asked you if you needed to get in," the man said. "You know someone that lives here?"

William shook his head stupidly. He scratched the back of his head. "I, uh… _I_ lived here when I was a baby. I was adopted so I'm just trying to find something to help me remember my mother."

The man let go of the door and stepped off the first step. "How old are you?"

"Sixteen. I doubt anyone that lives here now would be able to help me."

The man motioned with his head for William to follow him into the building. "I got somebody who might remember, but I can't make any promises. Name's Nick Coeben by the way."

William hesitated. The guy's thoughts weren't the weird whispers he had heard in Wyoming and Nick kept wondering if Gramps took his medicines. He seemed harmless, but William was still cautious. "Will," he finally said and walked towards the stairs slowly.

"Alright, Will. Let's see what we can do."

William bounded up the steps after Nick. They walked to the rear of the building's first floor and the man pushed a door open. William keyed into his thoughts and slowly followed him into the old apartment. He hid a smile as Nick toyed with the idea of explaining that he lived here with his grandfather, but held it back not wanting to be overly friendly. The television was playing low in the living room to the left of the door. Everything in this apartment felt off. Everything felt reversed, completely flipped one hundred and eighty degrees.

An old man sat flipping through channels in an arm chair. He looked up when William entered. William swore that a flash of recognition sparkled in his eyes. Wishful thinking, maybe?

"He's a really old man," Nick whispered. "Sometimes his memory isn't too great, but he was the landlord here for a long time." Nick walked over to the older man. "Gramps, this is Will. He's trying to remember living here as a baby. Think you can help him?"

The old man waved Nick away and sat forward in his chair. He squinted his eyes and frowned at William. "I've seen you before." _You or a taller version of you…_ he thought. William suppressed a laugh.

"I couldn't tell you," William admitted. "The last time I was here, I was about ten months old."

The old man pointed a finger at him. "You look familiar still; I just can't put my finger on it."

William stared at the man blankly. "Sir…"

"Call me Marty, son."

William paused. "Marty…after I lived here, my mother had to give me up for adoption. All I know is she lived here and she had red hair. I think she might have been a single mother. I don't remember my father. I don't think he was around after I was born."

The man had a far-off look on his face and was silent for several long moments. Every so often, his eyes would dart to William and he'd squint at his face. After several long, awkward moments, he finally spoke again. "The FBI agents."

William felt his eyes widen and he met the old man's gaze. "What?"

The man nodded. "It made the other tenants feel safe to know that there was an FBI agent living here." He chuckled. "She had more break-ins at her apartment than any other tenant in the building. She was even abducted straight out of her own living room one night. Gone for a while too, but her crazy partner wouldn't let her mother and sister pack her stuff up." He gave William a knowing glance. "Not many people have hair like her, you know. And she had a personality that went with it. Pulled her gun on me once, thinking I was an intruder." He chuckled again.

William chuckled along with the man. Nick was crazy; Marty's thoughts were clearer than most people he spoke to.

"I remember now," Marty said nodding. "Nicky, I need the leasing history for apartment thirty-five."

Nick jumped up to retrieve the information his grandfather asked for.

"It's a shame though," Marty continued, shaking his head sadly. "She was a good mother to that baby. And then she left one day and never came back. I blame that wild partner of hers…Beaver or…Moose…some kind of animal…Fox! That was his name. He was always here dragging her out on case after case…she would follow him anywhere. Special Agent Fox…uh, _Mulder_."

Who names their kid Fox? It was the general thought settling over the room.

Nick returned with a file in his hands, digging through its contents. He pulled out a copy of a lease with a Post-it note stuck to the top. "It says here…Dana Scully?" Nick was silent for a moment. "Like Dana Scully who spoke against the government's handling of E.T. a few years back?" It was his turn to squint inquisitively at William.

William shrugged and shook his head. "I was eleven when all that happened. I didn't watch the news. And I lived in Wyoming. Only the top priority news is filtered through for us. I've never heard of her."

Nick laughed and pulled the Post-it off the lease and handed it to his grandfather. "Says here to call Walter Skinner. You know this guy, Gramps?"

"Nicky, where's my wallet?" Marty asked quickly.

Nick turned and took two steps to a desk. He picked up a wallet and handed it to Marty.

Marty opened it and rifled through before he pulled out a business card. He looked it over, flipping it back and forth several times. "He was the man that cleaned out Dr. Scully's apartment when she never came back. A bunch of suits packed everything away and took it. I had seen them around, they all worked with her. He said to call him if any men ever came looking for her." He handed the card to William. "He'll be your best bet for finding your mother, son."

* * *

Later, after William had thanked Nick and Marty for their help, he found himself sitting in a McDonald's in Arlington, Virginia. His food sat untouched and cold on the table as he held the card in front of his face, flipping the card from back to front like Marty had over and over again. The front held the official seal of the Federal Bureau of Investigation. The address of the J. Edgar Hoover Federal Building, and an office number sat at the bottom beneath the name Walter Skinner, Division Director. On the back was another handwritten number.

William held the card close to his nose and read the handwritten number over and over again. The numbers were neat, and appeared to be written slowly so that no mistakes were made. William frowned. Walter Skinner. Marty had said that he had seen him several times before and that he had worked with Dr. Scully. Why didn't he recognize these names? After several long, pensive moments, William pulled out his phone and finally dialed the number.

It rang several times before a man picked up. "Is something wrong?"

William was confused. "Walter Skinner?"

There was hesitation on the other end. "Who is this?" he asked slowly.

William's words were jumbled in his mouth and he stuttered. "I got this number on a business card from a man named Marty Coeben. My name is William. I'm trying to find my mother."

"Your name is _William_?" Well at least he seemed to recognize William.

"Yes…? Mr. Coeben said that my mother's name is Dana Scully and that Walter Skinner worked with her."

"How do I know it's really you?"

William pulled the phone away from his ear and frowned at it curiously. "How do I know this is really Walter Skinner?" he countered.

There was another pause on the other end. "You don't. Where are you, William?"

"I'm at a McDonald's in Arlington on Wilson Boulevard…"

"I'll be there in twenty minutes. Don't turn your phone off." He hung up without any further conversation.

Twenty minutes? Walter Skinner was still in the area, was Dana Scully here as well?

He got up and threw away his untouched food and went back to his table to sit and wait. Nearly twenty minutes later, a silver sedan pulled into the parking lot and sat idly in a parking space for a good five minutes. Finally, the lights shut off and the exhaust stopped billowing around the pipe. A man in his sixties stepped out of the driver's side and looked around curiously. He sported a cleanly trimmed grey goatee and was dressed casually in jeans and a gray sweater under a thick, black North Face coat and a black baseball cap sporting a Nationals logo. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and walked into the restaurant, making a beeline straight for William.

_He looks like him. Christ, he looks_ just_ like him, _the man was thinking. He slid into the booth across from William. "William?" his voice was breathy and he sounded as if he couldn't believe what he was seeing.

"Mr. Skinner?"

The man frowned and scanned the restaurant again. "Are you here alone?"

William nodded. "My parents…" He looked down at the table. "They were killed five days ago."

Skinner stared at him incredulously. "Your parents were _killed_?"

William held his hands up. "Mr. Skinner, I've been driving for the last five days straight. I haven't slept well and I really, really would appreciate a shower. And truthfully, I don't know how much of my story you'll actually believe."

"Whoa…take it easy," Skinner said slowly, frowning in concern. "Where are you from, son?"

William sighed. "I drove here from Wyoming."

"_Wyoming_?" Skinner paused. "_You_ didn't kill your parents, did you?"

"What?" William shook his head. "No, sir. But the man who did told me that the time was coming and that I needed to go with him."

Skinner sat silently. _They_ had found him. He had been right to run, but how had he known to come here? He couldn't possibly remember his parents, especially his father, or living on this side of the Potomac River for the first ten months of his life. He opened his mouth to ask another question, but William beat him with the answer. Skinner then realized that the magnetite serum Jeffrey Spender had injected him with as a baby never rendered his abilities useless. It only caused them to subside for a certain amount of time.

"I knew to come here because I had a very vivid memory of a street corner near where I lived as a baby. It led me to the apartment building, where Mr. Coeben gave me your number."

Skinner's eyebrow rose. "I didn't ask that out loud."

William nodded and clenched his teeth together, flexing the muscles in his jaw like Mulder always did. "Yeah, I know." He unzipped his backpack and Skinner's muscles immediately tensed as he reached inside, unsure of what he was going to pull out of it. He relaxed when he pulled a camera out and turned it on. Setting it on the table in front of Skinner, he motioned to it and then slouched back against the bench, one arm stretched across the back. "How much of that do you believe?" His jaw flexed again and his face was impassive.

Skinner picked up the camera and scrolled through the pictures, recognizing the same sort of images from the case file he had passed along to A.D. Rotter two days ago after a mysterious fax had come through on his e-fax system. He briefly glanced up at William and then out the window, seeing a silver truck in the parking lot. The couple's silver Ford F-250 pick-up had been logged as missing from the residence, along with the decedents' teenaged son, who was now the primary suspect in the supposed double homicide. "Was there anything odd about the man who you killed?"

William's eyes grew wide and then his face greened slightly. He was remembering; the shock had worn off. "I think I threw up a little," he said quietly.

Skinner offered a smile. "You were protecting yourself, but it doesn't make it any easier. Was there anything odd about him?"

William scoffed. "Aside from the fact that he was practically _melting_?"

"Besides that."

"His thoughts were not in English, but it didn't sound like any language I've ever heard."

Skinner nodded and sighed. "William, you're not safe here. Come on." He slid out of the seat and started walking towards the door.

William sat up straight. "What? Why?" He scrambled out of the seat and followed Skinner.

"I can't tell you here," Skinner said, without breaking stride. "It's best if you come with me."


	5. Discussing William

A/N: I'm feeling like this chapter is just a long filler, and is a bit of a weak sauce installment. Anyways, I hope you enjoy.

* * *

William's backpack hung from his hand loosely as he followed Skinner into the parking lot. Even with his long legs, he had to quicken his pace to keep up with the older man. "Hey, where are we going?" Skinner moved quickly through the dark, the sedan's lights flashing as he unlocked the door with the keyless entry. "Mr. Skinner?" William stopped behind the car. "What's going on?"

Skinner stopped after opening the car's driver side door and stared at William over the car's roof. He sighed and looked up at the sky. "You are one of the central subjects in a sixty year old conspiracy involving an extraterrestrial invasion of our planet."

William scoffed incredulously. "You're shitting me right?"

"Why would I make that up?"

"You just told me that aliens are going to take over the world. You really expect me to believe that?"

Skinner rolled his eyes. "You can read people's thoughts and you find an _alien invasion_ hard to believe?" He shook his head. "Get in the car."

"What about my dad's truck?" William asked, rounding the car to the passenger side door. He slid in the seat and looked at Skinner expectantly.

Skinner looked over his shoulder and pulled out of the parking lot quickly. "It's convicting evidence. Until we can clear your name, just forget about it."

* * *

"John, what are you doing?"

John jumped at the sound of Monica's voice from behind him and he flipped the Van de Kamp file shut quickly, wondering how long she had been watching him. He had gathered as much information as he could on William Van de Kamp and had it all faxed to his house, making an effort to better understand the kid. He was reaching for answers and, so far he had found nothing, but he was determined to find anything that may lead him to the boy's current location. He turned around to face Monica and motioned at the mess on his desk. "Just looking over this case file again."

Monica leaned against the doorframe and folded her arms across her chest. She frowned and demanded his answer. "Why such a sudden interest in this case?"

He shrugged. "You were right," he admitted. "There's something about this case that's not adding up. I'm just trying to see if I can figure it out. It's really naggin', you know?" His smile was tight, but he hoped she bought it. Her answer was cut off by the doorbell ringing and they frowned at each other before walking to the door together. Monica pulled the door open to reveal Walter Skinner, holding a teenage boy by his elbow.

"Skinner?" Monica asked.

John coughed, earning a glare from Monica.

"Monica," Skinner said, flatly.

"Who's that?" John Doggett asked, though he already knew.

"William," was all Skinner said, knowing about the details of the couple's missing son from Wyoming.

"William?" Monica asked, frowning as she put tried to put the pieces together. "William Van de Kamp?"

"We knew him better as William Scully," Skinner confirmed. "This one is a real piece of work."

William rolled his eyes to this. "You keep telling me that aliens are trying to take over the world."

Skinner looked at Monica and John. "Just like his mother," he deadpanned.

"You look so much like _him_," John said astounded. The picture he had found at the crime scene had done the uncanny resemblance no justice.

William studied Monica curiously for a brief moment as he tried to place her familiar features in his memory, sensing the now all-too-familiar feeling of acquaintance with yet another stranger. As John leaned forward to inspect William more closely, William caught a whiff of the man's cologne, further evoking a sense of familiarity and safety. "I don't understand. Who do I look like?" He motioned impatiently at Skinner. "He was saying the same thing when he picked me up."

"I never said that out loud," Skinner said, nudging William through the front door of the house.

William frowned at Skinner, then rolled his eyes and stepped inside. "You may as well have." He looked at Monica again, his expression asking for help. "Did you know that the more intensely someone is thinking something, the louder it is?"

"He can hear thoughts?" Monica asked, still trying to process who was walking into her house.

Skinner shrugged and shut the door behind him. "I'm going go out on a limb here and assume the theories we had about the efficacy of magnetite are not at all entirely accurate. Or perhaps the very reason William regained his abilities was the very same reason they were…_are_ out to get him." Skinner took a deep breath before continuing. "Maybe injecting him only served to immunize him to the side-effects."

"_Regained_ my abilities?" William's eyes slid from face to face, noting the alarm in their eyes to Skinner's assumption. No one was willing to offer an answer. "What are you guys _talking _about?"

Monica laid her hand on William's shoulder, smoothly removing him from Skinner's care and guiding him into the living room. "Will…it's just an odd coincidence is all." She glanced at the case file sitting on the desk in the office beyond where William stood. Motioning for him to sit on the couch, she sat beside him and continued. "There's a long history behind whatever is going on here, and we tend to get to the bottom of it. We never expected that we would ever have to revisit this subject."

"Nor did we expect that you would end up here in D.C. after so many years," John said, dropping into a chair across from William and Monica. All that research and the kid showed up at his front door. Some sorts of powers were brewing to make that kind of coincidence happen.

"Apparently I exceed expectations then," William said flatly. He closed his eyes as he felt the familiar headache wash across his forehead, signaling that the Red-Headed Lady's mood was changing. She was worried about the Hazel-Eyed Man. He leaned forward and rubbed his palms against his temples. He felt Monica's hand on his knee and he looked up at her. "It's nothing," he responded to her unspoken concern. "It's just part of the whole mind-reading thing. It started about five years ago, I think."

Monica nodded in understanding. "William, I need you to tell us what you remember. We only want to compare it to what we saw in Wyoming."

William narrowed his eyes at the adults in the room. "I don't know how much I should divulge."

"They aren't the lead investigators in this case, Will," Skinner assured him. "We're the last people you should be worried about."

"We just want to make sure we have all the facts straight," John added.

William frowned again, but nodded. He told them the story of how he had sensed the intrusion through his dream and woke up to find a behemoth of a man in his house and his parents dead. He explained how he waited for the man in his room and how he shot the man, pausing to choke down the bile that had unexpectedly risen in his throat as he relived the moment. He fell silent and his eyes fell blank as he gripped the arm of the couch until his knuckles turned white, remembering how the man's face had melted in front of him. Finally, he shook his head and continued, telling them how he had run away, going off of one memory, and made his way to Georgetown, where the old landlord put him in touch with Skinner. He fell silent again and looked up at Monica.

She nodded and smiled reassuringly. "Can you tell me about your dream?"

William's left eyebrow rose in confusion and he shrugged. "It brought up a memory from when I was a baby…I remember being taken and I remember being terrified," he said gruffly. His eyes glazed over. "I ended up in a crater, surrounded by flames. That's where I was in this dream…back in that crater. I was stuck and I couldn't breathe, but _They_ were there…they're always there, their black eyes just watching me. And their hands…" He looked down at his own hands and shuddered. "Their fingers were so long, and they were always reaching for me. They're always looking for me." He didn't feel his lower lip tremble at the thought of them ever reaching him. "They call me _ánaaí_." He shook his head and blinked, returning from some far-off place. "I have no idea what it means."

"Do they ever get you in your dreams?" John asked.

"I honestly think that's the closest they've gotten," William said, his eyebrow raising again. He met John's hard gaze. "But then the woman shows up. Their voices go away when she is there. They get mad, but they go away when she starts to talk to me."

"Who is she_?_" Skinner asked.

William blinked at Skinner. "_She_ is the Red-Headed Woman. My mother."

Monica sat back, exchanging glances with Skinner and John. "Your _mother_? Your adoptive mother?"

William shook his head and frowned. "No. Biological."

"Biological? Does she speak to you?"

William shrugged. "Kind of. I think she knows when I'm thinking about her at least. I don't know if she's actually talking to me though. I get a lot of memories from her."

Monica bit her lip. She looked up at John and Skinner expectantly, but they both met her with hard expressions. Having spent time serving with the Marines, they had developed the same neutral expression over the years. Their surprise wasn't hidden in their eyes though. It was completely of Scully's character to keep something like being able to sense her son from them.

"I hear her voice in my head," William continued. "It doesn't necessarily mean she's talking to me. I know that she can sense my change in emotion and thinks about me."

"Why do you think that happens?" John asked.

"Well…I've made an assumption based on the natural empathy between a mother and her child," William said, launching into his hypothesis. "There may be some mutation in our genetics that has allowed our connection to remain on a telepathic level that was reactivated with the E.T. outbreak five years ago. Whatever was really going on forced it out of this supposed remission," he said as if to clarify with Skinner. He looked at the older man and Skinner nodded. "And then that allowed us to uncover shared memories that could only exist from such a connection." He sat with his hands on his knees, his eyes scanning the faces in the room until another burst of head pain washed across his forehead. He squeezed his temples between his palms.

Monica's hand was on his shoulder. "William, are you alright?"

William couldn't answer. He squeezed his eyes shut against the sudden intensity of the room's lights. He hadn't had a headache like this in five years and he kept telling himself not to pass out. Tears squeezed out of the corners of his eyes and he felt the urge to vomit. Swallowing, he blinked up at Monica bleary-eyed. How do you explain the sudden existence of a headache of this magnitude? "My head…" he croaked. "It feels like it's about to explode."

There was a sudden knock at the door and they all jumped. John walked to the door and pulled it open, allowing two more figures to enter the room, one of which was moaning about a hideous headache. The woman with firey hair glanced up looking for Monica, but her eyes stopped on William bent over, his head between his knees, massaging his temples and forehead with the heels of his hands. She stood directly in front of him and tilted his chin up to look at his face. She received an angry glare that quickly melted as she crouched down to eyelevel.

"William?"

All he could do was nod, knowing immediately who was crouching in front of him. More and more tears were gathered in the corners of her eyes the longer she looked at him, until they spilled over and cascaded down over her cheeks. Seeing her features finally after so long and having no detail muddled by fading memories forced his eyes to prickle in the corners. She hardly looked different from what he remembered; he could have picked her out in any crowd as his mother. Her right hand was cupping his face, while the other hand smoothed hair back on the side of his head. He wrapped trembling fingers around her hand tightly and used his other hand to trace over various details of her face. Finally, her knees hit the floor and she pulled him to her tightly and they cried. His arms wrapped around her torso tightly, finally realizing just how frightened he had been throughout the last few days and how just being close to her made him feel safe. The headaches disappeared.

It hadn't felt like fifteen years had passed. It barely seemed like fifteen minutes.

* * *

Mulder watched as Scully pulled their son in for an embrace and then turned fully to John, placing both hands on his shoulders. His fingers tightened hopefully and his eyes held an excited gleam that John hadn't seen in nearly five years. "John Doggett, don't you dare lie to me," he warned in a hoarse monotone. "Is that really my son?"

John frowned. "It's not entirely confirmed …"

Monica had left her spot on the couch and had already been at John's side when Mulder asked. "It's him, Fox."

"Monica…" John said.

"Dana's reaction confirmed it," Monica argued quietly, glancing over her shoulder. She looked back at Mulder. "He says that he and Dana have a connection…a _telepathic_ connection."

Mulder released John and turned to Monica. This wasn't news to him. "Does he…does he remember me?"

Monica shrugged apologetically. "We didn't get to talk to him long enough."

Mulder walked up behind Scully, but instead of reaching out to her, his hand landed on William's shoulder. William looked up at his face and deep into his eyes, both feeling like they were staring into a mirror image of themselves. William held Mulder's gaze, wishing that Mulder would remember the first time he had seen him. Either through coincidence or Mulder's understanding, the memory weakly flooded his mind. William smiled.

_William, say hi to your daddy. His mother handed him up into his father's arms._

_It was an abandoned cabin. Monica was standing beside Scully, tending to her, as Mulder looked deep into William's eyes. After several minutes, Monica reminded Mulder that they needed to get Scully to a hospital. _

Simple. Uneventful, yet one of the most important and valuable memories Fox Mulder possessed.

The sense of smell is a powerful thing. William had already seen that when he smelled John Doggett's cologne and knew that he had always known the scent of this man as well. It had somehow been inbuilt. William stood up and pulled Mulder to him, taking in a deep breath and recognizing the scent. It was foreign and familiar, but by this point in the day, this didn't throw him. He squeezed tighter and Mulder reciprocated. Mulder cried. He hadn't shed so many tears since he had left right after William was born. His knees felt like jelly until he felt Scully wrap her thin fingers around his elbow. He released William, but his hand remained on his shoulder. "Scully…?"

She nodded and her grip tightened on him. "I know, Mulder."

After a few moments, John finally cleared his throat and the small family turned to look at him. "I really hate to do this to you, but there's something we need to talk about." He held up a file that they both recognized as an X-file, immediately causing their insides to twist painfully.

Scully wiped beneath her eyes, immediately serious. "What is it, John?"

Monica gently pulled William away from his parents. When he pulled back, she said, "Sweetie, let John and Skinner fill them in on what happened." She looked at him with a comforting smile. "Don't worry we won't let them go anywhere. Let's get you something to eat, okay?"

William looked at Mulder and Scully as Monica tugged on his arm again. Scully nodded reassuringly and squeezed his hand. "It's okay, sweetheart. We're not going anywhere." William looked up at Mulder, who nodded in agreement. William reluctantly followed Monica into the kitchen.

Mulder stepped forward and Scully grabbed his forearm to stop him. She felt his muscles tense angrily. "What's going on here, Skinner?"

Skinner motioned to the couch as he fell into one of the chairs. "Why don't you both take a seat?" Mulder and Scully sat as John dropped the file on the table. "William being here is no coincidence. Take a look." Scully took the file and she and flipped through it, as Mulder read over her arm. "The victims' names are Michael and Annie Van de Kamp. As you can see from the photos, they were killed by exposure to an 'unknown chemical substance.' Another photo will show the acid stain and badly decomposed body of a shape-shifting bounty hunter."

Scully was skimming through the file. "What about their son? Was he not home?" She looked up at Skinner and John.

John pointed into the kitchen, but he could already see the dots connecting in Mulder's head. "_That_ is their adopted son, William."

Scully gasped. "Oh my God," she exclaimed quietly.

"How did he get here?" Mulder asked, taking Scully's hand.

"He says that after he _shot_ the man in his house, he took whatever money he could find and made his way to Georgetown on a memory. He remembered an intersection near to your old apartment, Dana, and he found his way there, hoping that something would jog his memory enough to point him in the right direction. He's a damn lucky kid…like his father," John said, smirking. "Your old landlord, Mr. Coeben, still lives in the building. His grandson runs everything now. He found William staring up at the building. Skinner had left the landlord a card with the Red Line number on it."

Mulder was silent for a moment. "He _shot_ the bounty hunter," he didn't ask, just repeated the fact disbelievingly.

"Like I said, '_damn_ lucky,'" John said. "He made a one in a million shot straight through the bastard's Adam's apple and out his neck, tearing through his spine." He jerked his thumb towards his own Adam's apple.

"And effectively killing him," Mulder shook his head.

"And effectively killing him," John said in agreement, nodding.

"What about the parents?" Mulder asked.

"Sitting in the morgue," John whispered. "They've been trying to get a hold of the next-of-kin to come positively identify them. They haven't gone under the knife yet."

Mulder paused and pulled at his lower lip in thought for several long seconds. "Do you think you could get them to Quantico? Have Scully come in as the pathologist?"

"Mulder…" Scully said, her voice a warning.

Mulder turned to her. "Scully, this will look sloppy on their part. They're going to want to eliminate their mistakes. Isn't surprising that the bodies haven't magically disappeared? If we get the FBI to call jurisdiction, we can _regulate_ the findings."

"Mulder," her voice had dropped to a harsh whisper. "I am not comfortable with that. It's one more lie, one more cover-up." She shook her head. "And I'm not in any favor of performing another autopsy that has personal ties." Her voice dropped impossibly lower. "Mulder, they raised our _son_." She suppressed the grimace thinking about the autopsy he had asked her to conduct on his own mother all those years ago. He hadn't wanted to believe that she would kill herself and hadn't taken no for an answer when Scully refused then. She was almost holding her breath hoping he wouldn't insist again. She stared into his hazel eyes, now green with a familiar excitement she hadn't seen in the last five years. They held a silent argument between each other in that eerie way they were able to communicate non-verbally, until she finally backed down and nodded. "Fine," she said, holding her hands up in surrender. "But he can_not_ know, Mulder." She shook her head and muttered, "I don't even want to think about the emotional distresses _that_ would create."

"He won't know," Mulder assured her, eyeing William from his spot on the couch. Monica ruffled his hair affectionately as she put a sandwich down in front of him and he smiled back gratefully through his exhaustion. Mulder's eyes drifted back to Scully's face and smirked at the single eyebrow arcing toward her hairline. He ran his fingers across it, tracing his way to a strand of hair that he tucked behind her ear. "Don't worry."

"It's when you tell me not to that I do," she said wryly.


	6. Meanwhile, Back At The Coroner's Office

Okay, so this was originally part of the next chapter, but it got so suddenly, out-of-control long that I had to cut it up. I'm not quite sure of this chapter's purpose for the overall plot, but I like it, so it's staying...lol. Enjoy!

* * *

Scully sighed heavily as she tugged rubber gloves onto her hands, releasing them into place with a sharp snap. John and Mulder had set to procuring the Van de Kamps' bodies under FBI jurisdiction immediately after she agreed to go through with these autopsies, but the Park County Coroner's Office had given them the run around before finally agreeing to allow Scully to perform the autopsies with the coroner, Sheriff Frank Gault, and the investigating officer looking over her shoulder. Unfortunately for Scully, that meant that she would be under the indelible scrutiny of Captain Briner of the Cody Police Department. His hard eyes and scowling eyebrows were anything but trusting and she eyed him briefly before picking up the scalpel, ready to make the first incision.

"Dr. Scully," Briner said, disrupting her concentration and startling her. Her eyes rolled uncontrollably as her gaze slowly shifted from the body of Annie Van de Kamp to his glare, an agitated sigh escaping her lips.

"Yes, Captain Briner?"

"Before you make that first cut, could you kindly explain why these bodies are under the jurisdiction of the federal government?"

Scully smiled tightly, hoping it appeared more obliging than she felt. "The evidence of this case fits in with the M.O. of a case my partner and I worked on several years ago. It's the most recent in a series of interstate murders." She bent back over the cadaver in front of her, the sharp end of the scalpel resting above the purple dashed line she had drawn as a guide several minutes earlier. She pushed the scalpel into the skin and slowly traced the line from the left shoulder to the sternum. Briner said her name again, causing her to jump and the scalpel to catch on the third rib and fall to the floor. This time she glared at the officer as her eyes shifted from the scalpel to the man's eyes. Even Sheriff Gault was giving the other man an impatient look. "For the sake of their surviving relatives, Captain, I'd like to attempt to make this as clean as possible and not like the work of organ harvesters." The sheriff snickered.

"Well, I'm just confused, Dr. Scully," the captain said, shifting to a more dominating posture. Scully wanted to roll her eyes again, but suppressed the urge. "See, we never contacted the Bureau. So I'm wondering how they came to hear about this case in the first place."

Scully paused quickly running through the facts of the case in her head. "The official report said all evidence indicated a homicide caused by the use of an unknown chemical substance. That phrase was flagged by CDC and the compound they discovered was mentioned in cases that originated in my division. Now, if you don't mind, this will be rather time consuming and I would prefer to be on a flight back to Washington as soon as possible." Briner remained silent for the remainder of the time it took to conduct the autopsies, albeit unwillingly. It took nearly three hours to complete both autopsies and prepare tissue and fluid samples to send off to toxicology. Scully sat in an empty office late into the night examining the pre-autopsy photos and her notes on her findings, trying to find any discrepancy and comparing the most recent results to old files she had brought with her relating to similar cases.

Scully was unaware of the time as she pored through the files in front of her and barely heard the knock on the officer door. She looked up from her work at the sheriff standing in the shadowed doorway. "Found anything interesting, Dr. Scully?"

Scully sighed and shook her head. "As odd as this case may seem, it's textbook in comparison to the others I've worked on. Nothing out of the ordinary."

Sheriff Gault frowned. "Sorry to hear that."

Scully covered a yawn behind her hand. "I'm fairly acquainted with these baffling conclusions," she said, smiling up at Gault and then motioned to the files in front of her. "I can tell you that if you don't think outside the realms of possibility, identifying this substance will become difficult for your Crime Lab."

Gault stepped further into the dim office. "May I?" he asked, pointing at the files.

"Please, be my guest," Scully said, scrubbing at her face. "I'm afraid I'm invading your territory on this one."

Gault pulled out a pair of reading glasses from his shirt pocket and slid them on his face. "I was getting my strings pulled by the captain," he said, picking up the closest file and eyeing her over the top rim of his glasses. "Some of your friends from the FBI had gone through his crime scene. He didn't like that all too much."

Scully's eyebrows shot up. "So it would seem."

The sheriff hesitated, flipping the cover open and closed as she picked up another file. "Pardon my curiosity, ma'am, but what exactly are we dealing with here? You weren't the least bit surprised by the…condition we found the Van de Kamps in, nor were you surprised by the reports of a man who was completely wasted away by the same unknown chemical." A slow smile spread across his face as he continued. "Now, even though we have a low population in our county, I've seen my fair share of the weird and unnatural, but I ain't never seen anything like this case here." Scully avoided his eyes and busied herself with the file in her hand as he continued. "We ran the toxicology and serology tests on this substance and it couldn't be identified as anything our labs have ever seen." He finally frowned again. "Unless those labs at Quantico have some equipment fancier than what they use at Fort Detrick at the CDC national lab, I'm pretty sure the FBI hasn't seen this compound either, yet you've taken all your findings in stride, even called it '_textbook._'" He raised his eyebrow, but a smile was tugging at the corners of his worn features. "What's the truth, Agent Scully?"

The message in the use of her former title wasn't lost on her. He was asking her to put aside the bureaucratic red tape and give him a straight answer. She had never realized the weight one word could hold when used in the proper context. Scully sighed. "This case has a history that is older than either of us, sir. As for the nature of this chemical, I still have yet to positively identify it, but I understand it and if I told you where it came from you would never believe me." She smiled tiredly. "What I can say is that I have a personal tie to this case and I wanted to make sure there would be no surprises in the near future that this substance hasn't evolved since we've last seen it."

"Evolved?" The alarm was evident in the sheriff's face. "Are you saying that this substance is a sentient being?" He couldn't keep his eyes from wandering to the bodies beyond the window, still sitting on the morgue tables. He didn't bother to hide the shudder as he thought of close company they had all kept with the corpses.

Scully shook her head. "No, but the chemical's source is a sentient being. It's my personal ties with this case that drive my paranoia." Well, Mulder's paranoia anyway. "Anything that is anomalous in this case is of great significance."

Gault knew when to stop asking questions, but there was only one that lingered. Every law enforcement official knew better than to get into a case with personal ties. It never ends well and he voiced as much to Scully. "Doctor Scully, I know I don't have to say this to you, but having personal ties with a case…"

This was the first moment that the sheriff had seen any sort of reaction or emotion from the petite red-head seated across the table from him. She slammed the file shut and her eyes bore into him, immediately cutting off his thoughts. "Sir, this is deeper than any regular case you or I have worked and the fact that _my son_ is at the center of it forces me to reopen a case that is half a century old, just to ensure that no harm will come to him." She began to shut down again, masking her emotions with the stoic expression that had covered her face since arriving in Wyoming and loaded every file back into the dusty box she had brought with her. In her rush, she accidently uncovered a file labeled, "Scully, Dana Katherine 2/23/1964 (3 of 5)." She snatched it up quickly before the sheriff could read the label. "If you wouldn't mind sending me the results of those toxicology reports, I would greatly appreciate it. I'll leave a fax number that I can be reached at."

The sheriff stood, bewildered, as she lifted a beaten cardboard lid over the box. "I didn't mean to offend you, miss. That was hardly my intention." Worry lines creased his forehead and, shrugging, he shook his head at a loss. His weathered eyes showed his sincerest apologies.

Scully eyed him warily and chewed on the inside of her lip. The lid now hung limply at her side, allowing her eyes to slide over the file tabs until they landed on one file labeled simply with one word: William. She pulled it out and laid it gently on the table. The file had been created just before she had given him up and she handled it as if it were just as fragile as a nine-month-old baby. "According to official records, he never existed. These are all copies of the official documents, all of which have since been carefully hidden away to protect him." She was leaning on the table, whispering conspiratorially to Gault, and her hand hovered over the file protectively. Her voice dropped so low that the sheriff had to lean forward to hear what she said. "This is the kind of work I've devoted my life to. I can't just sit idly by and allow any chance to uncover new evidence to slip through my fingers." She picked up the file and stuffed it back in the box, quickly setting the lid on the box and effectively preventing Gault from accessing any of the precious files inside. She knew from the look on his face he wanted to believe that there was something bigger going on here than he was able to fathom, but at the same time his eyes were sad for her. He probably thought she had worked one too many overtime hours, investigating cases of the paranormal variety. Fortunately enough for Scully, that meant he would humor her until she left, pass along the toxicology reports when they were sent back to his office, and then write off this case as a farce and file it away as an unsolvable homicide for state records. Scully doubted that she would be remembered for anything other than the crazy doctor who spoke in emotional circles about weird shit.

"I have to go," she whispered, heaving the box up and propping it on her hip. With that she disappeared out of the office.


	7. Time With Mulder

This chapter is somewhat heavy, but has a light ending. It's probably my favorite and I really enjoyed writing it and the next chapter, so I hope that you enjoy it as well.

* * *

William and Mulder stared at each other across the dining room table. Everyone had relocated to Mulder and Scully's farmhouse, knowing that all supplies they needed to investigate this case were readily available there, including a fully stocked armory that had taken up residence in the fallout shelter beneath the barn. At present, Doggett, Reyes, and Skinner were all speaking quietly about their next step in Mulder's office, leaving Mulder to make sure William did not hear anything they were saying just in case. William had learned that they were all good at keeping their minds blank when certain things were being discussed and he had given up trying to read them.

Mulder picked up a sunflower seed and stuck it in his mouth and crunched the husk between his teeth, watching as William's eyes flicked toward the bag. He turned the bag toward William, silently offering them to him. William smirked and took a handful, shoveling them all in his mouth at once. Mulder grimaced and groaned. "Ugh! How can you do that?"

William shrugged. "It's how everyone else does it."

Mulder grimaced again and disappeared into the kitchen, returning a moment later with a paper towel. He handed it to William. "She'll kill _me_ if you slobber all over the table."

William laughed and folded the towel in half, laying it on the table. "How come they're being so secretive?"

Mulder glanced toward the office. "It's complicated. We're just trying to figure everything out."

"Mulder…" William said and trailed off as he noted the slight cringe from Mulder. The physical reaction paled in comparison to the stifling sadness and torment that radiated off of him. William shut his eyes against the tidal wave of a memory that flooded his mind. It barely took him half a second to realize that it was Mulder's and that it was, by far, the most painful memory he possessed.

_William crouched in the corner of a dark room. The walls were made of stone, cool to the touch and the room was musty. He was surprised at the vividness of the memory's details, all of which focused on Scully. William looked up seeing Scully kneeling on the floor next to Mulder. Mulder remembered every detail down to the irritating drip, drip, drip of the water in the back corner._

"_Mulder," Scully was saying, her voice barely above a whisper. William could see the glassiness of her eyes as she held back the tears and emotions she was feeling. "I'm so scared that I've just got you back and now I'm going to lose you again."_

"_I know what I'm doing." Don't worry, Scully, please, don't worry for me._

_The torment on Scully's face was killing both William and Mulder. Their hearts were ripping apart watching her. William wanted to reach out and be there for her. He had to remind himself that this was just a memory and there was nothing he could do. It had already happened, and he was too weak and too curious to break away from it. "Well…whatever you're doing…you have no idea how much has already been lost…" This was killing William. Mulder, stop remembering! He wanted to scream at his biological father, shake him out of it, anything... He felt so helpless and he screamed until his throat was raw with no effect. They were only memories, he couldn't change them. As Scully continued her voice broke with the weight of her confession. "What I've had to do…" She tried desperately to hold it together._

_Don't talk about it, Scully…don't bring it up. Mulder wanted to cry. He wanted to curl up in a ball and sob his eyes out. His son. His son was in danger and he wasn't there to protect him and his absence forced Scully to give up everything she had ever wanted. When Skinner told Mulder, Mulder had wanted to punch the man in the face and call him a liar. He would never have done anything that would force Scully to endure such an unbearable pain. "I do know," Mulder whispered. His voice was strained. "Skinner told me."_

_Scully nodded slightly as if to acknowledge the truth she was still trying to grasp herself. "Our son, Mulder…I gave him up." Mulder pulled her close and she sobbed. He felt so guilty. This was never supposed to happen. "Our son," Scully continued, sobbing again. "I'm so afraid you could never forgive me."_

_You had no choice, Scully! Mulder wanted to yell. He wanted to hit the wall. He wanted to grab a man smoking a cigarette around the throat and squeeze the life out of him slowly. He wanted to torture the man for all the pain he had caused people that Mulder loved. This wasn't Scully's fault. It would _never_ be Scully's fault. It's not your fault, Scully. It's not your fault…_

William opened his eyes as Mulder did and they stared at each other again. He felt hot tears streaming down his face and saw Mulder vigorously scrubbing his face. That was more than an eye-opening experience. It was _painful_. William had always known that his birth mother had loved him; he now knew that his father loved him too. Mulder's guilt was almost debilitating. Did he walk around feeling like that _every day_? _For fifteen years_? Did Scully even know? William's eyes were wide as he looked at the man that now stood in a broken mess before him. He couldn't deny these people their son. William suddenly felt his mouth go dry. "I can't…" he croaked and shook his head. He stood up and walked around the table, feeling like a small, helpless child. Deep down, hidden somewhere beneath fifteen years of affection for another father, William knew a suppressed memory existed. He knew that he had loved his biological father as much as an innocent newborn could and that it would take time to uncover that. He knew he would have to for Scully and Mulder's sake. He pulled Mulder to him and cried more for him.

"Hey," Mulder said softly. "Hey, kid. Don't cry. I'm sorry. That was my fault, I couldn't stop it. Don't cry, Will." He pushed him back to arms' length.

"I can't do it yet, Mulder," William said, angrily wiping the tears from his face. "I can't call you 'Dad,' yet." He clenched his fist. "I'm going to try. For you and Scully. I just can't do it yet."

Mulder smirked. No matter how old he looked or how mature he acted, William was still just a kid. The psychologist in him knew that William was regressing to the youngest age that his mind was capable of achieving. There was no doubt that this would be a long recovery process. The people who William had called mom and dad his entire life were dead. His emotions were on overload right now, and no one would blame him for that. Mulder knew that it would take time. The memory bubbled to the surface by accident. "It's okay, bud. No one is going to rush you. Not me, and especially not Scully. That was my fault, I couldn't control it. It's okay." William sniffed and looked away, nodding. He looked at Mulder who was wearing a cheesy grin. William smirked and wiped his nose, sniffing again. "Do you like baseball?" Mulder asked.

"I have the best batting average in the state," William said and a full smile broke out across his face.

"Excellent," Mulder said, walking toward the office. "Wait for me outside."

William's eyebrow rose on his forehead as he slowly turned toward the front door.

Mulder walked into the office, ignoring as three pairs of eyes turned to stare at him. He began rummaging around in the corners and behind the desk.

"Mulder?" Skinner said.

"Hmm?" He wasn't paying attention.

"Mulder, what are you looking for?" Monica asked.

"I know it's here somewhere," Mulder mumbled. "Damn it!"

"Do you need help finding something?" Doggett asked, as Mulder disappeared in the closet.

Mulder appeared a few seconds later holding an old Louisville Slugger and a metal bat in his hands. He smiled at Doggett. "Nope, got it right here."

"What do you need bats for?" Monica asked.

Mulder paused and looked at them as if the answer was obvious. "I'm playing with my kid." He disappeared as quickly as he had come in, leaving his three companions exchanging amused, silent glances. Mulder bounded down the front porch where William was waiting in the grass, staring back down the driveway. "Here," Mulder said, holding the bats out to him.

William grabbed the bats. "What are we going to do with them?"

"Follow me." Mulder led William across the field toward the barn. "Before the Invasion, I had refurbished this barn as a secondary shelter," Mulder was explaining. "Afterwards…well, I had a lot of free time and money to spend, so I remodeled it again. I spent a lot of time on it." He pushed opened the doors, motioning for William to wait. William could hear him flipping a switch and halogen lights whirring to life. Another sound started up with the lights that William recognized. It couldn't be, could it…? Mulder reappeared, motioning for William to follow him inside. "'This is my most special place in all the world, Ray. Once a place touches you like this, the wind never blows so cold again. You feel for it, like it was your child.'"

William smirked. "_That_ is a really old movie, Mulder."

Mulder shrugged and stepped out of the way to reveal a fully functional batting cage behind him. "'If you build it, they will come.'"

William laughed. "I knew I heard a pitching machine in here."

"Well, it's free," Mulder said. "It's already loaded and ready to go. Three speeds. Pick your poison."

"Fastest," William said, grabbing a helmet off the wall beside him and pulling on the glove Mulder was holding out to him. William looked at the net and the barn wall behind it as he stepped into the cage. "This is awesome," William said, scuffing the dirt with his shoe. He swung the bat a couple times before smacking the "Start" button and settling into his stance. "We might have to make a few modifications to it though."

"Why?" Mulder asked as the first ball shot from the machine.

The metal bat made contact with the ball, with an extra loud _BAM!_ and Mulder watched as the ball shot through the net and smashed through the wood on the far side of the barn. Mulder's jaw dropped and he watched as William did this five more times with unbelievable accuracy. The pitching machine needed to be refilled, so William exited the cage and smiled sheepishly as he handed the dented and bent aluminum bat back to Mulder. He scratched the back of his head. "I'll, umm…I'll get you a new one of those."

"This is a high-end aluminum bat, William. It's like four _hundred_ dollars."

"Yeah, I know."

"William, you _broke_ an aluminum bat."

"Yeah…my little league coach sent a supposedly unbreakable bat back to the manufacturer with a video of me smashing home runs out of the park with it. They flew me out to Van Nuys, California to test several new products when I was twelve. When they couldn't find anything that I wouldn't break, they just sponsored me with twenty bats biannually and I had to learn how to check back my swing and my coaches had to learn to use me as a bench warmer. I'll get you a new one; I haven't hit my yearly quota yet." William smiled sheepishly again and shrugged.

Mulder just looked at him, but William cracked up when a runaway thought escaped Mulder's mind.

_Magnetite injection my ass, Jeffrey. I relied on you for one thing, and here is living proof you failed._

Whoever Jeffrey was, Mulder was not happy with him.


	8. We're Going To Need A Good Disguise

Okay, this is an extremely light chapter. Extremely. Almost to the point where it seems out of place with the rest of the fic, but I figured, hey, William's life is probably going to start getting REALLY confusing and sucky really soon, so let's give him a five-minute break. If anyone is out of character, it's probably because I'm exhausted. A lot of it is Mulder and Scully screwing with each other. After so many years of solitary confinement (Solitary. With each other? Weird.), I feel like all they do is find ways to bug each other for fun. Anyways. I like this one too, so I hope you enjoy it as well.

* * *

Several hours later, Scully landed at Dulles International Airport. Mulder was circling around the front parking lot and finally pulled up in front of the lower entrance. Her heart melted when she looked through the passenger window as he pulled her car up in front of her and saw Mulder and William laughing at something Mulder had said. She had yearned for this for nearly fifteen years, but the knowledge that her son's life was at stake again settled like an iceberg in the midst of the warmness she was feeling. She smiled sadly as Mulder climbed out of the car and took her overnight bag from her and put it in the trunk of the car. His face was begging to know details of her trip, causing her smile to fade as she saw William's lanky form climb out of the car to give her the front seat. She looked down and cleared her throat loudly. Mulder turned to see William standing no more than four feet away from them.

"Later," Scully said through clenched teeth as she turned to smile at her son. William returned her smile and stepped up to pull her into a tight hug.

"I missed you," he said, as he pulled away.

Scully's smile widened and she cupped his face in with her hand. "I missed you too, sweetheart."

Mulder squeezed her elbow. "We should get going." He circled back to the driver's side and folded himself down into the seat.

William's hand was at Scully's shoulder as he ushered her to the passenger's seat and opened the door for her. She climbed into the car and William shut the door, then slid into the back seat. Mulder pulled into the traffic that perpetually circled the loop in front of the airport.

"That was a really short conference," William said from the backseat, his eyes watching a plane take off. "You were barely gone for thirty-six hours."

Scully and Mulder exchanged a glance in the front seat before Scully's eyes wandered out the window as well. She had managed to keep her mind blank, despite the real reason she had gone out of town. William had had no idea about what was going on since arriving on John and Monica's doorstep three days before. "It was more of a seminar than a conference." Scully turned in her seat and peeked around the headrest so she could see William. "Did you boys play nice while I was gone?"

William turned and glanced at Mulder, smirking. "Yeah. Mulder's awesome."

Scully rolled her eyes. "I'm afraid to ask."

Mulder frowned at William in the rear-view mirror. "The kid _broke_ my aluminum bat in the cage, Scully, and tore six holes through the barn's wall." Mulder's childish indignation made Scully laugh. Mulder glared at her before turning back to the road. Scully cast an amused glance at William, who grinned crookedly.

"He's been waiting _hours_ for me to come home so he could mope about this," Scully said, her eyes fixed on Mulder. "Haven't you, honey bunch?" she asked, brushing his hair behind his ear, knowing fully just how annoyed Mulder really was about the situation…and taking extreme delight in being able to get under his skin for once. After being cooped up in a house with Mulder for so long, she had had no choice but to learn everything _he_ knew about baseball. It had barely been a week since he had run back into the house, exclaiming that he felt the aluminum bat was finally broken in. Poor, Mulder. Now he would have to go through the process all over again.

Mulder swatted her hand away from his ear. "Come on, Scully. Knock it off!"

Scully smiled again. "Relax, Mulder," she said, rubbing his arm. "We'll figure the bat situation out. No matter what you think right now, it is a solvable problem."

Mulder smirked in the mirror at William. "I don't know, Scully. Seems like an X-file to me. Completely unsolvable. How can a sixteen year old kid from Wyoming do that?"

"That's not funny, Mulder."

"No, it's kind of funny," William said, leaning forward and smiled. "Mulder let me read my files while you were gone. I'm definitely an X-file."

Scully dead-panned Mulder, who only shrugged in response. "He asked."

"Oh, yeah!" William exclaimed and dug into his back pocket. "And Skinner and Mulder hooked up my new identity." He pulled a driver's license out of his wallet and handed it to Scully. He narrowed his eyes and tried not to chuckle, glancing at Mulder again. "Mulder said you would like the name."

Scully looked down at the name on the card, reading "Pressley, Elliot Aaron." The reaction was immediate. Scully frowned and rolled her eyes. "Jesus, Mulder! Seriously? That's as bad as Rob and Laura _Pee_-trie." She purposefully exaggerated the first syllable. Mulder and William were immediately in stitches at her reaction. She looked at the card again and frowned again as she looked at the age. Apparently Elliot Pressley was already twenty-one, going on twenty-two very soon. "And he's twenty-one? Mulder!"

Mulder was unable to keep the grin off his face. He couldn't suppress the giggle that bubbled up as her lips pursed and her eyebrow rose high on her forehead. This only made her angrier, forcing her to fold her arms across her chest and stare him down. "Scully, look at him," he said, trying to be rational. "He looks like he's twenty-five anyway."

"Mulder, don't play this game with me," she warned. "He's only been back with us for three days. Do _not _make me look like the bad guy."

"Scully, I could never make you look like a bad guy," Mulder said. "He likes you too much." The intensity of her stare decreased slightly, but there was still a slight undertone of skepticism beneath the glare. "Besides, the only reason that I did that was because they're going to be looking for a sixteen year old, not a twenty-one year old."

"Fine, Mulder," Scully said, handing the card back to William, who was still smirking in the backseat. For some reason, Scully and Mulder's arguments had little effect on him. They had bickered the whole way to their house from John and Monica's about the smallest things. He had no idea that Scully was annoyed that Mulder was asking her to do an autopsy on his adopted parents, bringing added tension to their already stressful situation. When they had apologized for twenty minutes straight, he laughed and told them Annie and Michael never argued, at least where he could hear. Their bickering was a welcome relief; he never believed anyone could be that complacent in a relationship. On top of that, there was never a boring argument with Scully and Mulder and he was normally laughing by the end of it. "Who are we this time, Mulder? Sully and Sherry Bonham?"

"Oh, Scully, you cut me deep! I have a better imagination than that."

"Really, Mulder," Scully said, not believing him for a second. "Humor me, then."

"Mark and Mindy McConnell."

"_Mark_ and Mindy?"

"Clever, right?"

"I want a divorce."

* * *

lol..._Mark _and Mindy...I couldn't resist.


	9. Speciation

Whew! It has been quite a while since I've worked on this fic. There is quite a bit of genetics stuff in here and I'm pretty sure it's accurate. I always get ahead of myself when I type, so I might have left something out. Please ask if something is confusing so I can go back and fix it! (or at least answer it to the best of my ability in a review response)

* * *

_SEPTEMBER, 2013_

_Dana Scully sat back in her chair and heaved a heavy sigh, her bleary eyes skimming over the neatly scripted notebook in front of her. She scrubbed her face vigorously and twiddled her pen between her fingers as she began reading the words on the page again. Once her eyes reached the same unbelievable section she had gotten stuck on for the past hour, she threw her pen at the wall in front of her and groaned in disbelief and frustration. This could not be possible, yet she had seen the proof with her own eyes, had conducted all the tests on her own, and had personally overseen all processes outside of her realm of expertise. No mistakes had been made at any point in this process. But it couldn't be possible, she repeated in frustration to herself, to her lab staff, to anyone that asked…could it?_

_It had been nearly four months before that the new military administration had sought her out and contacted her. They had been persistent, finding her doing volunteer work at the FEMA facilities and hospitals while she utilized her own techniques to slowly eradicate the new cases of E.T. Plague. One of four different soldiers would approach her every day for nearly a month before she finally agreed to meet with Colonel John Alexander, the Army colonel that had been tasked by the new administration to use his background in Army Medical Command to find a cure at any cost._

_During their initial meeting, Scully had been understandably hostile and frighteningly skeptical of the men staring at her from the other side of the dim room buried in the deep sublevels of the Pentagon. The building was one of the few left untouched in this war, due to being built in a thick bed of magnetite. The men explained that those ranking above them preferred to minimize the casualties of this war. They were looking for a cure, not a genocide. _

_Scully had understood and proceeded to share her knowledge and techniques with the Army. A month later, she was heading the research facility that would hopefully discover and mass produce a cure. What they would eventually discover, what she was now reviewing in her notes, was groundbreaking. All she could do was hope that something could be done to save those who were still in the beginning stages of the Plague. She oft thought of the moment of their discovery, and it twisted her insides every time. There was no way it could be possible, but here it was, all the proof she would ever need, stored down in protected storage in her personal state-of-the-art laboratory._

"_Dr. Scully!" someone cried urgently. They had barely been working on a cure for two weeks. Scully turned, observing the sea of lab coats rushing about the lab. She finally found the source of the voice; one of the requisitioned biomed and chemistry students from universities around the country waved her over. "Dr. Scully! I've found something!"_

_Scully walked quickly over to where the young man was leaning over his station staring wide-eyed at the computer screen before him. He reminded her of a clean-cut Langley with his rumpled coat hanging open to reveal a band shirt, his thick lenses sitting in horn-rimmed Ray-Ban Wayfarer frames. His dark blond hair was worn long and it fell in his eyes as he stared at the computer. As she approached, she could see a recently constructed karyotype opened on his screen. But something was off about it. "What is it?"_

_He pointed to a pair of chromosomes sitting in the middle of the karyotype. "This," he said plainly, stepping to the side so she could get a closer look. "This is a twenty-forth chromosome pair."_

"_Why haven't we seen this before?" Scully asked straightening and looking up at the young man._

"_All the testing we've been doing has been from those that haven't gone through the complete transformation," he said nervously. "This came from the POW we just brought in. It would appear that this is the key."_

_Scully nodded staring at the karyotype on the screen again._

_One of the other students passed by and looked down at the screen. "Oh, congratulations, Jacky, you've discovered the great ape family," she said, jokingly. "Was your sample contaminated with your DNA?" She chuckled as she sat down further down the bench._

"_I'm not…" he said loudly, and then scratched the back of his head uncomfortably. "I'm not a troglodyte," he said quietly. He motioned to the girl and sent Scully a weak smile. "Friendly competition, Dr. Scully. Nothing was contaminated. I took every precaution."_

_Scully worked very hard to hide the smirk that wanted to spread across her face. She tried to keep her expression serious as she nodded. "Potatoes also have twenty-four chromosome pairs, but that doesn't make it a gorilla. Don't take it too hard. We have to take this to the General. Very good work, Mister…"_

"_It's, umm," he chuckled nervously. "Doctor actually. I was pulled out of my last year in residency to aid with this effort. Dr. Jack Gordon."_

_This time Scully did smile. "Dr. Gordon, then. Thank you. Come with me."_

"_Really?" he asked uncertainly._

"_You made the discovery, right?" At his nod, Scully turned on her heels without another word. Jack scrambled to gather all his notes and findings, and trotted after her._

_Nearly two weeks later, Scully and her new second-in-command, Dr. Gordon, found themselves standing before a panel of Army officers explaining their new findings. Scully had ordered that the new chromosome be sequenced immediately after its discovery and then, on a hunch, she ordered that those sequences be run for any similarities in the human genome. It was the results of the comparisons that ultimately set the rusty paranormal-thought cogs spinning again._

"_As you can see here," she said using a laser pointer to draw circles around the two genetic sequences displayed on the wall. "These two sequences are the same length, consisting of the same nitrogen base pattern." She changed to another slide. "As is seen here." Another slide. "Here." Another slide. "And here. Upon further investigation, my team has discovered that these sequences are those that code for basic human bodily functions. I posit this can only indicate that this twenty-forth chromosome is a genetic mutation that allows the victims of E.T. Plague to become super human. In the simplest terms, it basically reinforces normal human sequencing and makes them better at being human. This includes physical endurance, more efficient use of stored energy, the increased ability to produce excess adrenaline…"_

"_Telekinesis, clairvoyance, underwater breathing…?" one of the panel asked skeptically._

_Scully paused. "It's possible that some of the coding DNA we discovered on this chromosome may code for non-human characteristics such as the ability to breathe underwater, yes. The only comparison we have run was against human DNA."_

"_This is all well and good, Dr. Scully," Colonel Alexander said. "But is it reversible?"_

_Scully fidgeted under his stony glare. She was still not a fan of being judged for the nonconformist ideals that she and Mulder clung to so desperately. "It appears that if it is caught early enough, it can be prevented. I have perfected the technique of…"_

_The colonel shook his head and cut her off. "Let me rephrase. For those that have already contracted the disease and gone through the transformation, is there any way to cure it?"_

_Scully hesitated, and Jack stood to her aid quickly. "Sir, all the tests done in the lab have a one hundred percent fatality rate. It would appear that any attempt to remove, or isolate, those sequences on that chromosome also affects the primary function. I think it's due to some sort of evolutionary mutation that has caused a rearrangement of the genome, in which several essential life processes overlap with original loci. All basic functions cease no matter what we do."_

"_How do we fix it?" the colonel asked punctuating each word._

_Scully and Jack looked at each other, before Scully shook her head. "The best answer I can offer right now is that I don't know. We can't continue until we discover a way to proceed without having the patient die during the treatment. Th-the addition of a twenty-forth chromosome essentially creates a new species, and until we can figure out how to safely remove it…"_

"_This is a war, Dr. Scully. There will be casualties. Your mission was clear; discover a cure at any cost, and that includes the loss of enemy life."_

"_Sir, with all due respect, the intentional endangerment of any human life goes against every oath I've ever made."_

"_We've just established scientifically that they are no longer human," the colonel said. "You both agree that the addition of one chromosome results in a new species."_

"_Yes, sir, but—" Scully started._

"_Use the POWs, doctors," the colonel growled. "Find that cure."_

_That was more than three weeks before. Scully and Jack had both agreed that none of the hybrids would be tested on until at least ten of the lab rats recovered first. She flipped through her notes again, noticing the increased frailness of the pages. More than a few had ripped out and been taped back in since they were ordered to press on. She had several pieces of the puzzle and knew that somehow they would all click. She had to think much more like Mulder, draw the most improbable conclusions and work her way backwards from there._

_An additional chromosome. Magnetite. Super somatic functioning. _

_She groaned and pushed back from her desk in the dimly lit office. Looking at the clock, she noticed that it had been hours since her last meal. She crossed the office and cursed as she bumped into a metal storage box with her shin. A crimson line trickled down her leg; she must have hit it harder than she thought. Cursing again, she reached for a tissue on her desk to wipe up the blood. She paused when she pulled the smeared tissue from her leg and stared at it. Another hunch hit her in the gut and she dropped the tissue, forgotten on the floor._

"_Jack!" she called down the hall as she reached the door. His blond head appeared in the doorway of the next room down. "I need a vacuum tube."_

_Jack appeared in her office several minutes later and stopped short seeing her getting ready to stick herself with a needle. "What are you doing?" he asked, his face showing his alarm._

_Scully spoke quickly, excitedly as she worked to fill the tube with her own blood. "Many years ago, I was infected with a derivative of the virus that is being used to turn people into super-soldiers. The blood tests we've run before this have all been on people who have never come in contact with the virus." Jack helped her bandage her arm. "My partner also came in contact with the virus, and when his mutation is activated, he possesses the hybrid ability to predict things that are going to happen. Advanced reflexology, he calls it," she said, rolling her eyes and causing Jack to smile. "The point being, many of the intron sequences, what we refer to as junk, are converted into active DNA in the only known natural hybrids."_

"_Known hybrids…?" Jack tried to ask._

"_A boy…a _man _named Gibson Praise and…" Scully faltered on the second name pausing briefly. Jack raised expectant eyebrows. "And mine and Mulder's son."_

"_Your s—?" Jack stuttered._

"_Focus, Jack," Scully said, reigning in his attention again. "William, my son, also had activated junk DNA that he had to inherit from _something._ What if we can find a way to isolate the C24 sequences by trying to find out why they are inactive in mine? We'll have to get a sample of Mulder's and Gibson's as well."_

"_Dr. Scully…" Jack started unable to find the words. "That's genius."_

"_I think we have a lot of work to do."_

_Several months later, the thirteenth group of twenty-five test rats made a perfect recovery from the infection. The cure was reversed engineered from the genetic information provided by Mulder and Scully's DNA in combination with a magnetite suspension. The rats were all alive as the world entered into the summer of 2014 when the E.T. cure was slowly introduced to the corralled hybrids in the FEMA camps._

* * *

SHAWNEE LAND, VA  
PRESENT

"I can't believe that Mulder had you sleeping on the couch last night," Scully said, her voice muffled as she searched for clean sheets and an extra blanket to put on the guest bed. She emerged from the linen closet with an extra pillow, gray sheets, and a large towel piled high in her arms. She kicked the door shut behind her. "Though, I also can't put it past him."

"It wasn't that big of a deal," William said, smirking casually. "I don't sleep very much."

Scully paused in the doorway and briefly eyed him wearily. _I don't sleep very much._ She sighed heavily. "It's the premise, I guess," she said as she moved into the guest room, dropped the extra linens in the chair beside the bed, and then pulled off the comforter. "Here, help me get these on the bed." She held a corner of the fitted sheet out to him and he pulled it to the opposite side of the bed. Scully didn't have to say anything else for the next several minutes as they deftly moved around the bed, putting it back together. William just _knew_ what she needed him to do and noticed her momentary reserve once she stepped back and realized what had happened.

William sat stiffly on the bed. "Please don't be scared of me," he mumbled ashamedly, his eyes dropping down to the floor.

To his surprise she simply smiled, completely amused by his comment. At his confusion, she reached her hand out to his face and placed it on his cheek, shaking her head. "I'm not scared of you, sweetie. This…this is kind of like playing with baby rabbits compared..." She trailed off and paused, lips pursed tightly as she considered her next words. "There have been very real monsters in my head, William. You're a welcome relief."

William looked up at her with frighteningly serious eyes. She had seen those eyes before; they had stared back at her each time she looked in the mirror for as long as she could remember. "Were you ever scared about what was happening to us, Scully?" He saw her face contort briefly and he silently berated himself.

Scully crossed her arms over her chest and chewed the inside of her bottom lip for a moment, studying his face while she thought. Finally, she sat down beside him and shook her head. "No," she said firmly.

William's eyes shifted back to the floor and his head bobbed up and down as he nodded. After a long moment, he looked up at the bare wall across from him and frowned. "You know…" he began, quiet and thoughtful. "They couldn't understand why I just suddenly stopped talking to people that winter."

"You were eleven," Scully reasoned, placing her hand on his shoulder reassuringly. "It couldn't have been a simple explanation."

He snorted quietly and finally met her gaze with the smallest hint of a smirk, before shaking his head. "No, not really. The only person that I could be around was Justin, one of the farm hands. Especially after he came back from law school. He didn't really…think anything. I think the farming tasks just became so mundane that his mind went numb."

Scully's insides slowly turned to ice and it took every bit of her reserve to refrain from reacting in any way to William's statement.

"I don't really understand why he even came back," William continued. "He hated the cows as much as I did and he hated Wyoming even more. I guess his brief stint with the public defender's office in Worcester changed his mind." William smirked again.

Scully's internal organs melted from ice cubes to tight knots and she was nearly shaking as she tried to keep herself together. She smiled tightly. "I can see that position ruining the glamour of the job."

William chuckled. "I can't imagine trying to explain what I know now to…umm…" he trailed off sheepishly.

"Your parents?"

He nodded. "I'm sorry."

"You don't need to be sorry, William. I understand," Scully said, but she felt her throat constricting around her words. She swallowed hard against the lump forming in her throat. "I take it that someone explained to you the miracle of your birth?"

William smiled and nodded again. "Yeah, Mulder pulled some things together and made me a file to go through. We told you in the car." Scully nodded. "He and I talked about it for a while." He sighed. "Once we were done, I ran up and down the driveway, like, forty or fifty times before I came to terms with it and then spent the rest of the night thinking about it."

"And by 'it' I assume you mean why you have these abilities?"

"Yeah…who else can say they're half-alien? I still don't even completely understand how a natural conception can result in hybridized offspring."

Scully pursed her lips. She patted his shoulder and stood. "That will take a lot longer than I have time for right now. Maybe I'll piece it together for you over the next few days." She bent down and placed a kiss on his forehead. "Try to get some sleep. It might help." William nodded and she handed him the remote that was hidden in the side table drawer for the television across the room. "Sleep well," she said quietly from the doorway, hearing a muffled, "Night," as she pulled the door shut behind her.

In the hallway, Scully sighed deeply as she tried to steady her breathing and slow the rapid pace of her pounding heart. Maybe it was just a coincidence. This Justin _could_ have been numbed by mundane and repetitive tasks he was given, though Scully highly doubted that those tasks would completely _clear_ his mind. Most people found mundane tasks providing them with extra time to work through whatever issues they may be experiencing. _Something_ would have had to go through his mind. She reached up to her neck where her gold cross hung and she squeezed it tightly between her fingers, dragging it slowly back and forth across the chain. She pressed her palm against the door before padding lightly down the stairs and into the living room where Monica was reviewing Scully's notes from the Van De Kamp autopsies.

Scully stopped in front of where Monica sat, pinching the bridge of her nose. Monica looked up and removed her glasses. "Dana, what is it?"

"They've been watching him," she said quietly. "For several years."

"What do you mean?"

Scully circled the coffee table and dropped on the couch across from where Monica sat, covering her face with her hands. "William just told me," she began, choosing her words carefully, "there is a farm hand that worked for his father. He went away to law school and came back a few years later…"

Monica frowned. "Justin?"

Scully looked up, surprised at Monica's response. "Yes. How did you know?"

"John and I met him when we went out to Wyoming the other day. He took us through the house."

"They've been watching him," she repeated firmly.

"You don't know that, Dana. Just because he left for a few…"

"No." Scully shook her head firmly. "William said that he liked to be around Justin, that Justin didn't _think_."

Monica paused, suddenly lacking any words to continue conversation. After several silent seconds, she shook her head. "Dana…that doesn't mean…"

"No, it doesn't," Scully agreed firmly. "But why would I want to put his life in jeopardy, Monica? I failed him the first time around. I don't plan to fail on my second chance." Her searing blue eyes were burning holes in Monica's attempt at reassurance.

Monica sunk deeper into the chair and sighed, nodding her understanding as her eyes drifted down to the report sitting on her lap. "What do you recommend?"

"He can stay here for now. There's enough magnetite under and around this property to hold us through a second apocalypse."

"And then what?" Monica picked up the report on her lap and flipped through the dozens of detailed pages Scully had written. "These autopsies brought us no closer to new answers; they only reinforced knowledge that we already have. If Justin is what you say he is…"Monica shrugged and met Scully's eyes.

Scully nodded slowly. "They could have modifieded the virus to withstand the C24 Cure."

Monica nodded her agreement.

"We have to find Justin," Scully said.


End file.
